THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


X 


'I'D    RATHER    YOU    DIDN'T    FEEL    SORRY    FOR    ME 
ANY    LONGER " 


His  OWN  HOME 

— -— 

TOWN 

BY 

LARRY,  EVANS 


AUTHOR   OF 


"  ONCE  TO  EVERY  MAN,** 
'THEN  I'LL  COME  BACK  TO  You,**  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
HARVEY  DUNN 


New  York 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 

^^r 

Publishers 


Copyright,   1917,  by 
THE  H.   K    FLY   COMPANY 


Copyright,   1916,  by 
THE    METROPOLITAN    MAGAZINE    COMPANY 


Copyright,   1917,  by 
THE    METROPOLITAN    MAGAZINE    COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I  As  the  Curtain  Rises           .    •  .  9 

II  Enter  the  Black  Sheep  ....  27 

III  Speaking  of  Dogs  .....  44 

IV  The  Girl  Called  Melody     ...  54 
V  Come  Ye  Who  Are  Weary       .      .  65 

VI  A  Creature  of  the  Burlesque     .      .  74 

VII  "No  Matter  What  You  Do"  .      .  92 

VIII  A  Formidable  Personage   .      .      .  109 

IX  The  Season's  Smartest  Function     .  126 

X  According  to  the  Code  .      .      .      .  150 

XI  Warchester's  Own  Daughter    .      .  157 

XII  Melody       ..      .      .....  174 

XIII  Tivotson       .......  193 

XIV  The  "Courier"  Prints  an  Extra     .  212 
XV  An  Unprovoked  and  Shameful  As 

sault        .......  232 

XVI  A  Series  of  Conferences      .      .      .  243 

XVII  The  Great  Carl  Hardy      ...  261 

XVIII  Small  Town  Stuff     ......  267 

XIX  Just  Jimmy  Gordon       .      .      .      .  283 

XX  The  Humble  Exalted    ....  293 

XXI  Rank  Melodrama   .....  304 

XXII  Indian  Summer        .      .      .    ,.;*      .  313 

1562963 


HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

CHAPTER  I 

AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES 

RAIN  had  fallen  during  the  early  afternoon, 
a  wind-driven  torrent,  quite  as  much  to  be 
expected  in  that  section,  at  that  time  of  the 
year,  as  was  the  midday  height  of  the  mercury 
entirely  seasonable.  More  than  a  few  times  the  sun 
had  broken  through,  only  to  be  hidden  immediately 
by  the  scudding  clouds,  which,  dissolving,  drove 
down  in  warm  sheets,  to  splinter  against  the  pave 
ment  like  long  and  lancelike  shafts  of  glass.  And 
so,  an  hour  after  the  storm  had  blown  over  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  come,  there  were  still  wet  patches 
upon  the  cobblestones  of  the  station  square,  even 
though  the  gutters  had  run  off  the  last  of  the  fouled 
and  muddy  water.  Under  the  ardent  August  sun 
Front  Street,  to  its  juncture  with  Main  five  blocks 
north,  lay  sleek  and  shimmering,  alike  a  mute 
reproach  to  the  municipal  department  whose  duty  it 
was  to  maintain  it  in  some  such  state  of  undefiled 
dignity  on  week  days  and  a  substantiation  of  "a  few 
remarks"  which  T.  E.  Banks— T.  Elihu— had  risen 


io  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

to  voice  at  the  last  banquet  of  the  Business  Men's 
Association  of  Warchester,  barely  the  night  before. 
In  spite  of  the  nondescript  character  of  some  of  the 
buildings  which  hemmed  it,  the  broad,  unbroken 
thoroughfare,  deserted  and  Sabbath  quiet,  presented 
an  aspect  bordering  upon  the  stately. 

Perhaps  to  those  listeners  so  unlucky  as  to  be 
natives  of  a  less  blessed  community — a  special  table 
marked  Guests  of  Warchester  had  been  set  aside  for 
them — many  of  T.  Elihu  Banks'  statements  might 
have  savored  of  eulogy  on  that  festal  occasion.  To 
scoff  is  human,  and  community  patriotism,  when  it  is 
based  upon  strictly  hard  and  fast  business  logic,  is 
not  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the  world  to  under 
stand.  But  there  had  been  well-timed  irony  to  offset 
the  extravagance  and  rob  it  of  all  save  figurative 
excellence ;  jocularity  so  seeming  intimate  that  more 
than  one  harassed  merchant,  Hobbs,  for  instance,  of 
the  Hardware,  or  Wilburt,  Drugs  and  Toilet 
Sundries,  who  had  come  hoping  to  hear  a  discussion 
of  better  ways  and  means  of  avoiding  total  insol 
vency,  had  gone  away  with  a  warm  feeling  instead, 
located  somewhere  in  the  general  area  beneath  the 
top  coat-pocket  on  the  left-hand  side.  This  emotion 
might  best  be  described  as  a  consciousness  of  tender, 
time-hallowed  confidences  common  only  to  T.  Elihu, 
the  town's  great  man,  and  each  individual  who 
cherished  it.  So  much  for  the  abstract  magic  of  the 
great  man's  oratory;  concrete  example  of  his 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  n 

masterly  phraseology,  in  the  guise  of  quoted  words 
themselves,  is  available. 

"I  have  sat  here  to-night," — Thus  T.  Elihu  Banks, 
coming  with  majestic  deliberation  to  his  feet, 
opened  his  few  remarks — "I  have  sat  here  and 
listened  with  conflicting  emotions  to  all  that  our 
revered  and  eminently  solid  townsmen  have  had  to 
say  in  regard  to  Warchester;  its  welfare,  growth, 
prosperity — past,  present  and  future." 

Here  he  paused  to  frown  upon  several  of  those 
identical  eminently  solid  ones,  who,  more  or  less 
disturbed  by  the  monthly  cash  balance,  had  quite 
inadvertently  allowed  personal  uncertainty  to  tinge 
their  utterances  anent  Warchester,  Five  Years  Ago, 
To-day  and  Five  Years  in  the  Future.  To  be  sure 
the  frown  was  playfully  fierce  and  only  mock 
ferocious.  It  did  not  betray,  either  in  line  of  lip  or 
brow,  a  probability  that  the  Commonwealth  Trust 
— T.  Elihu  Banks,  President — might  at  no  distant 
date  deliberate  long  over  a  further  extension  of 
paper  bearing  the  indorsement  of  those  very 
alarmists,  who,  instead  of  quailing  before  its  wrath, 
only  straightened  in  their  places  at  such  honorable 
•mention. 

" — I  have  sat  here  to-night,"  to  proceed  with  the 
remarks,  "and,  gentlemen,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I 
am  scared!  Yes,  sir,  plumb  frightened  and  dismayed 
at  the  imminence  of  calamity  which  I  am  convinced — >. 
that  is  to  say,  a/most  convinced — threatens  us,  our 


12  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

private  integrity  and  continued  public  existence. 
Why,  if — if  it  wasn't  for  the  fact  that  the  family  sort 
of  likes  it  here,  I'd  order  my  foreman  out  at  the 
plant  to  quit  work  on  that  new  weaveshed  of  mine; 
I'd  lock  up  the  doors  of  the  Commonwealth;  tell 
Latham,  at  that  table  over  there  in  the  corner,  that 
he  could  have  my  share  in  the  Construction  and 
Contracting  Company  for  any  spare  change  he 
happened  to  have  in  his  pocket,  and  get  away  from 
this  feeble,  tottering  old  invalid  of  a  town  before  it 
goes  all  to  smash!" 

"Silence  followed," — quoting  now  from  the  col 
umns  of  the  Sunday  issue  of  the  Daily  Gazette  which 
had  come,  damp  and  smelling  of  ink,  fresh  from  the 
presses  only  a  few  hours  after  the  banquet's  breaking 
up — "silence  heavy  and  a  little  perturbed.  Then 
laughter  pattered  around  the  room,  increasing  in 
volume  until  it  shook  the  rafters  as  the  meaning  of 
Mr.  T.  Elihu  Banks'  pungent  preface  struck  home. 
And  when  the  thunder  of  mirth  and  applause  had 
subsided  somewhat,  radiating  the  spirit  of  optimism 
and  indomitable  energy  which  has  been  so  instru 
mental  in  making  Warchester  what  she  is  to-day, 
our  esteemed  fellow-townsman  swung  from  the 
ironical  vein  of  his  introduction  to  a  serious  and 
comprehensive  analysis  of  commercial  Warchester 
.  .  .  touching  upon  the  changes,  topographic  and 
architectural  which  the  last  five  years  have  witnessed, 
more  than  a  few  of  which,  it  should  be  noted  in 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  13 

passing,  stand  as  a  monument  to  his  personal  love  of 
the  beautiful  and  finer  things  of  life  .  .  .  and 
closing  with  a  prophetic  picture  of  what  cooperation 
and  honest  endeavor  may  well  be  expected  to  bring, 
so  vividly  presented  that  quite  a  number  of  our 
estimable  citizens  besides  Mr.  Banks  have  decided 
not  to  go  just  yet,  but  to  wait  a  while  and  see  if 
things  won't  take  a  turn  for  the  better." 

This  extract,  a  faithful  example  of  the  Gazette's 
trenchant  style,  was  but  a  brief  bit  of  the  speech 
itself.  Reported  verbatim,  with  a  cut  of  T.  Elihu, 
it  filled  four  columns.  For  if  he  was  a  little  chary 
with  vital  statistics,  such  as  might  have  comforted 
many,  he  did  not  slight  what  the  Gazette  happily 
chose  to  term  the  topographic  and  architectural 
changes.  Swinging  from  the  subject  of  the  Trac 
tion  Company's  new  extension,  which  inevitably 
must  result  in  a  tide  of  profit  from  those  rural 
regions  hitherto  untapped,  to  that  of  the  new  Main 
Street  pavement,  laid  by  the  Construction  and 
Contracting  Company,  he  came  by  easy  stages  to  a 
mention  of  the  new  home  of  the  Commonwealth 
Trust.  And  here  he  was  upon  ground  safe  from 
foreign  criticism,  carping  or  covetous. 

When  T.  Elihu  Banks  could  not  himself  do  a 
thing  he  paid  the  price  of  the  man  who  he  believed 
could  do  it  for  him.  Fielding,  an  architect  lately 
come  to  Warchester,  had  dreamed  his  plans  unhan- 
dicapped  by  suggestion  or  ill-advised  economy.  And 


i4  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

the  finished  structure,  of  blue-veined  marble,  was 
vindication  enough  of  the  wisdom  of  such  methods. 
Facing  down  Front  Street,  the  building  drew  the 
eye  from  the  chiseled  atrocities  of  red  sandstone 
which  flanked  it,  like  a  fresh  blank  picket  in  a 
rotted,  madly  scroll-sawed  fence.  It  dominated  that 
thoroughfare  to  the  very  doors  of  the  Union 
Station,  quite  overshadowing  the  martial  group  in 
the  centre  of  the  Common,  a  memorial  to  the  valor 
of  native  sons  in  the  days  of  '61. 

True  enough,  this  work  of  art,  the  product  of  the 
Home  Granite  Yards  and  T.  Elihu  Banks'  gift  to 
the  city,  was  not  a  recent  improvement,  if  it  was  to 
be  accepted  as  an  improvement  at  all.  For  a  number 
of  years  the  twice-life-size  cannoneer,  gun  swab  in 
hand,  had  been  gazing  defiance  at  all  comers,  friend 
and  foe  alike,  who  chanced  to  alight  from  any  of 
the  amazing  number  of  trains  which  the  principal 
speaker  of  the  evening  stated  rolled  past  their 
threshold  between  the  meridians,  post  and  ante, 
but  he  was  no  fickle-minded  fanatic,  faithless  to  old 
gods  and  fawning  upon  the  new.  The  statue  was 
considered  a  very  fine  thing. 

"This  our  monument  to  the  dead  and  maimed  and 
missing,  mellowing  now  with  the  years  (mellowing 
applying  to  the  statue,  of  course).  .  .  The  resistless 
tramp  of  time  which  has  decimated  the  ranks  of 
those  who  survived.  .  .  .  The  onsweep  of  events 
which  brooks  neither  faint  heart  nor  faltering  hand!" 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  15 

It  was  neatly  turned,  the  transition  from  romantic 
clash  of  arms  to  the  more  prosaic  but  no  less  terribly 
real  strife  of  daily  business  life.  Serving  as  a 
conclusion  it  sounded  that  note  of  pathos,  of  deep 
and  human  compassion,  which  sent  more  than  a  few 
home  with  that  warm  feeling  aforementioned — 
beneath  the  top  coat-pocket  on  the  left-hand  side. 
As  they  turned  down  Main  Street,  linked  arm  in 
arm,  Hobbs  of  the  Hardware  expressed  for  the 
ears  of  Wilburt,  Drugs  and  Toilet  Sundries,  fervidly 
albeit  with  less  elegance  than  might  have  been 
employed,  the  opinion  of  all  who  had  been  among 
those  present. 

"A  damned  big-hearted  man,"  said  Hobbs.  He 
had  forgotten,  temporarily,  his  low  cash  balance. 
"A  damned  big-hearted  man.  Where  would  you 
look  to  find  another  who  has  accomplished  all  that 
he  has  and  still  stayed  tender-hearted?" 

Wilburt's  answer  was  in  tune.  "You'd  look  a 
long  time,  and  then  most  likely  fail." 

And  yet,  the  next  morning,  after  the  shower  had 
subsided  and  the  sun  come  out  again,  even  to  one 
who  had  not  come  under  the  spell  of  those  rounded 
periods;  to  put  it  precisely,  in  the  eyes  of  the  lone 
commercial  traveler  upon  the  Bay  State  Hotel 
veranda,  the  typical,  "overgrown  town,"  New 
England  city  was  far  from  ugly,  far  from  unpre 
possessing. 

He    had   been    forced   to    forego    his    jump   to 


1 6  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Providence  because  he  dared  not  leave  town  without 
seeing  Latham — J.  J.  Latham — personally,  so  one 
would  reasonably  have  expected  him  to  find  nothing 
of  excellence  on  the  scene  of  his  broken  schedule. 
To  the  contrary,  the  sporting-page  and  the  funny 
sheet  of  the  Sunday  Gazette  perused  in  all  serious 
ness  of  soul,  and  the  Banks'  address  by  way  of 
amusement,  this  stranded  alien,  chair  and  stiff 
straw-hat  tilted  back  at  a  dangerous  angle,  brown 
button  shoes  upon  the  rail,  let  the  paper  slide  to  the 
floor  while  he  sighed  his  unqualified  content. 

He  squinted  from  eyes  very  wise  in  such  a  round, 
cherubic  countenance  in  the  direction  of  the  Com 
mon,  pricked  here  and  there  with  beds  of  poppies, 
all  as  surprisingly  brilliant  after  the  rain  as  a 
red-figured  green  carpet  in  the  wake  of  a  vacuum 
cleaner.  The  gunner  and  his  mate  who  stood 
stanchly  by,  round  shot  in  hand,  would  not  be 
overlooked.  Feeling  the  need  of  oral  communion 
common  to  his  kind  the  "drummer"  addressed  his 
words  to  this  intrepid  pair. 

"Don't  fire,  boys,"  he  admonished  with  indolent 
amiability,  "till  you  see  the  whites  of  their  eyes." 
A  moment  of  thought.  "And  if  you  don't  mind  my 
asking,  maybe  you  can  tell  me  what's  wrong  with 
this  town?  Quiet  and  bucolic  and  restful  would  have 
been  my  verdict — if  it  wasn't  for  all  these  alibis  they 
registered  here  last  night." 

Head  on  one  side  he  waited  as  if  for  a  reply,  but 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  17 

the  gunner  and  his  mate  failed  to  unbend  from  their 
attitudes  of  hostile  aloofness.  A  bluebottle  fly 
buzzed  with  foolish  persistence  against  a  screen; 
flat  upon  his  back  on  a  baggage  truck  across  the 
square  a  newsboy  now  and  again  opened  his  lips  to 
drone  "Pyper!  Globe — Transcrip' — G'zette/"  but 
the  iteration  was  wholly  mechanical,  the  disturbance 
negligible  in  the  extreme.  A  peaceful,  Sabbath 
quietude  endured  until  a  pair  of  high-checked  gray 
horses,  harnessed  to  a  bulbous,  plum  upholstered 
barouche,  rounded  the  Main  Street  corner  and  came 
swinging  down  Front,  the  clatter  of  their  feet  upon 
the  pavement  a  marvellous  imitation  of  those  hoof- 
beats  which  trap  drummers  were  wont  to  beat  out 
upon  their  shells,  for  the  added  vividness  it  lent  to 
motion-picture  steeds. 

Immediately  the  commercial  traveler  abandoned 
fruitless  oral  curiosity  for  ocular  contemplation. 
(Even  at  a  distance  the  turn-out  was  impressive.) 
Back  in  the  hotel  interior  a  gong  clanged  brassily — 
the  first  summons  to  dinner,  for  the  Bay  State  clung 
to  old  custom — but  he  failed  to  respond.  Quite 
otherwise  he  allowed  his  chair  to  cant  slowly  again 
upon  all  four  legs.  And  Mr.  Dodge,  the  hotel 
manager,  chancing  to  glimpse  this  new  attitude  of 
interest,  came  out  from  behind  his  desk  and  started 
for  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  a  fire?"  he  called  through  the  open 
window,  truculence  in  his  voice  and  his  manner  too, 


i8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

for  in  his  experience  guests  of  the  brown  clad  one's 
ilk  needed  no  second  call,  and  he  distrusted  departure 
from  precedent.  "Can  you  see  the  smoke?" 

He  reached  the  open  door  just  as  the  approaching 
equipage  was  entering  the  zone  of  its  awe-compelling 
best.  The  truculence  disappeared. 

"Oh — ho  I"  He  understood  now — yes,  indeed! — 
to  be  sure !  His  exclamation  was  commendatory,  a 
verbal  pat  upon  the  back  of  the  man  discerning 
enough  to  forego  food  for  such  a  sight.  "Oh — ho! 
T.  Elihu,  eh?  Now  I  wonder  where  he's  bound? 
I  hadn't  heard  that  he  was  running  out  of  town  this 
week." 

The  commercial  traveler  leaned  forward  at  that, 
'his  face  less  cherubic.  In  such  wise  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  meet  an  argument  of  cheaper  goods  from 
a  competitor,  but  neither  of  the  frock-coated,  shiny- 
tiled  pair  upon  the  rear  seat  of  the  barouche 
appeared  aware  of  his  keen  gaze,  or  the  worshipful 
one  of  Mr.  Dodge,  whose  lips  were  slightly  parted. 

T.  Elihu  Banks,  tremendous  without  being  fat, 
ponderous  for  all  his  great  height,  sat  well  forward 
on  the  plum-colored  cushion,  stiffly  erect  and  frigidly 
preoccupied.  He  fairly  overwhelmed  the  one  who 
shared  his  state  and  made  him  seem  wisplike  and 
tiny.  His  stare  dwelt,  with  a  frown  near  to  lowering, 
upon  a  point  midway  between  the  horizon  and  the 
sun,  now  almost  overhead.  Yet  he  caught  the  first 
tentative  move  which  Mr.  Dodge  upon  the  veranda 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  19 

made  toward  salutation.  A  huge  and  pink  and 
smooth-shaven  face  was  turned  in  that  direction; 
there  was  a  glimpse  of  chilly  eyes  and  padded  flesh 
and  lips  sneering  even  in  repose,  while  this  new 
position  was  held  for  a  breath.  T.  Elihu  Banks 
thereupon  inclined  his  head,  a  scant  but  perceptible 
inch — not  necessarily  a  large  effort,  though  the  effect 
was  rather  wonderful  so  far  as  Mr.  Dodge  was 
concerned.  Shedding  his  uncertainty  the  latter  took 
an  impetuous  step  or  two  forward;  he  made  as  if 
to  reach  for  his  hat,  remembered  its  absence  and  fell 
back  upon  salute  instead. 

"Ha — ha!  Good  morning — good  morning,  sir! 
Hope  you  aren't  carrying  out  your  threat  and  leaving 
us  for  good  I" 

There  was  nothing  servile,  nothing  of  calculated 
flattery  in  the  well-timed  pleasantry.  It  was  merely 
an  expression  of  respect  and  admiration  by  one  who 
knew  real  worth  when  he  looked  upon  it.  That  the 
town's  great  man  failed  to  respond  in  kind  appar 
ently  discomfited  Mr.  Dodge  not  at  all.  T.  Elihu 
rarely  responded  to  such  sallies,  he  had  sufficient  to 
occupy  his  mind,  without  the  framing  of  airy 
persiflage.  And  for  an  alternate  excuse,  had  one 
been  required,  there  was  the  arrival  of  the  4.30 
express  from  New  York.  Roaring  into  the  station 
at  the  exact  moment  when  the  barouche  circled  up  to 
the  platform,  it  drowned  out  the  now  hopeful  cry 
of  the  newsboy  who  had  hopped  down  from  the 


20  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

baggage  truck  and  trotted  nearer,  the  laughter  of 
Mr.  Dodge,  as  mechanical  and  almost  as  mirthful 
as  the  clucking  of  an  aimless  hen,  and  all  other 
indeterminate  sounds.  When  the  train  had  come  to 
a  standstill  and  the  din  subsided  to  a  thin  hiss  of 
escaping  steam,  Mr.  Dodge  was  heard  to  be  laughing 
still  and  talking  as  well. 

"Ha— ha!  He's  a  great  joker— T.  Elihu.  D'yuh 
read  the  address  he  made  at  the  banquet  last  night 
to  the  Business  Men's  Association?  If  you  haven't 
y'd  better,  for  it's  mighty  interestin'  readin'.  Funny 
in  spots,  too — y'd  ought  to  have  heard  'em  laugh. 
Said  he  was  humbly  proud  to  be  identified  with  the 
name  of  Warchester — and  I  guess  he  hasn't  got 
reason  to  be!  He  is  Warchester.  He's  made  this 
town  what  she  is.  Humbly  proud !  I'd  like  to  have 
the  wad  he's  got  together  for  himself  while  he's  been 
doing  it." 

"Humbly  proud?"  The  commercial  one  meant 
no  sacrilege;  he  felt  that  the  pause  required  some 
answer.  "He  doesn't  exactly  hate  himself,  that's  a 
fact.  Why  don't  he  do  his  running  around  in  an 
automobile?" 

"Can't  afford  one!"  Vast  chuckles  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Dodge,  who  ignored  a  note  of  possible 
disparagement,  betrayed  the  source  of  this  prepos 
terous  statement.  "He  can't  afford  one,  T.  Elihu 
can't!  The  wife  has  one,  and  her  own  chauffeur. 
And  his  boy  drives  a  low  white  one  with  tub  seats 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  21 

and  no  fenders  that  goes  like  hell-a-bilin\  Most 
always  has  a  mighty  good-looking  girl  with  him — 
J.  J.  Latham's  daughter.  But  T.  Elihu's  so  hard  up 
he  says  he  has  to  stick  to  the  poor  old  nags  I" 

The  "drummer"  nodded.  He  renewed  his  con 
sideration  of  the  high-checked  team,  the  stiff-necked 
coachman  in  buff  and  blue,  the  plum  upholstery  and 
nickel  fittings,  from  a  somewhat  different  mental 
angle.  Here  was  undeniable  grandeur,  neither 
garish  nor  blatant,  but  "old-fashioned"  if  anything, 
and  unquestionably  "solid."  He  nodded  again, 
appearing  to  have  found  a  satisfactory  reason  for 
such  out-of-date  whimsy. 

"A  wise  play,  T.  Elihu,"  he  murmured.  "I've  got 
to  hand  it  to  you  there."  And  in  a  louder  voice  for 
his  host's  ear :  "Who's  the  rabbitty  looking  little  cus 
with  him?" 

Mr.  Dodge  had  no  time  to  administer  rebuke  or 
even  to  smile  pityingly  upon  one  whose  lack  of  culture 
and  discernment  permitted  him  so  to  characterize 
the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan.  For  the  big  man's 
failure  to  clamber  out  of  the  barouche  was  indication 
that  T.  Elihu  was  not  leaving  town  on  a  short 
business  trip.  He  was  expecting  someone  on  that 
train.  Already  a  scattering  of  day-coach  passengers 
— less  than  the  usual  quota,  for  Sunday  traffic  was 
light — had  bustled  into  sight,  heading  toward  Main 
Street  and  home,  hurrying  from  force  of  habit. 


22  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

A  moment  or  two  passed  without  further  develop 
ments.  The  raucous  shouts  of  the  engine  crew  could 
be  heard  from  far  up  the  yard  where  the  engine  was 
taking  water.  Mr.  Dodge  was  on  the  point  of 
sympathizing  aloud  with  T.  Elihu's  disappointment, 
when  his  intensity  of  attention  was  rewarded.  The 
figure  which  finally  breezed  around  the  station 
corner,  preceded  by  a  Pullman  porter  whose 
gleaming  grin  and  officious  solicitude  bespoke  a 
liberal  tip,  was  worth  waiting  to  see. 

Vision  as  applied  to  things  sartorial  smacks  dis 
tinctly  of  the  feminine,  and  though  there  was  nothing 
in  the  appearance  of  this  young  man  in  his  earliest 
twenties  to  warrant  such  meaning  being  read  into 
the  word  as  applied  to  him,  vision  best  describes  him. 
The  top-coat  of  creamy  tan  which  he  wore  draped 
over  his  shoulders  in  careless  ease,  in  spite  of  the 
heat,  was  of  incredible  breadth  of  skirt;  a  virtue 
under  the  circumstances,  for  far  from  veiling,  it  fell 
back  with  every  stride  and  puff  of  wind,  so  that 
nothing  was  lost  of  the  gorgeousness  beneath — -a 
gorgeousness  contributed  largely  by  a  suit  of  black 
and  white  check,  ultra  modish  and  wondrous  tight. 

Long  checkered  lapels  ran  down  to  a  single  button 
a  little  below  the  waist  line,  which  the  coat  clearly 
defined.  The  trousers,  so  narrow  that  almost  all  the 
fulness  had  been  requisitioned  by  two  knife-edge 
creases,  ended  a  fair  two  inches  above  the  low  tan 
shoes,  in  cuffs  of  the  same  width.  And  below  the 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  23 

cuffs  and  above  the  lapels  mauve  hose  and  scarf 
added  a  further  dash  of  color.  No  one  needed  to 
be  told  that  the  Panama  and  shoes  were  expensive. 
They  looked  it. 

To  complete  the  picture,  he  was  swinging  a  thick, 
light-colored  stick  in  one  hand  as  he  dashed  into 
view,  and  leading  with  the  other  a  white  bull-terrier; 
or  to  be  more  exact,  doing  his  best  to  restrain  that 
high-bred  animal  which,  straining  every  splendid 
muscle,  fairly  towed  him  in  his  wake. 

"T.  Elihu's  son,  Sidney,"  the  manager  of  the  Bay 
State  flung  information  to  his  guest.  "Sidney 
Estabrook  Banks.  T.  Elihu  married  Sadie  Esta- 
brook — Estabrook  steel  and  wire  works " 

The  explanation,  however,  was  superfluous.  Any 
stranger  would  have  marked  at  first  glance  the 
likeness  between  father  and  son.  There  was  the 
same  chill  light  in  the  eyes,  the  same  full  and  slightly 
sneering  lips.  The  younger  man's  face  was  not  yet 
florid  but  only  pinkish — a  shade  not  unlike  the  pink 
of  the  terrier's  nose  and  ears.  Abounding  vitality, 
quite  as  exuberant  as  the  dog's,  could  not  overcome 
a  suggestion  of  heavy-footed  weight  and  padded 
flesh.  It  was  this  very  exuberance,  on  the  dog's  part, 
which  precipitated  the  only  minor  catastrophe  that 
marred  the  occasion. 

T.  Elihu  and  the  Reverend  Duncan  were  out  upon 
the  platform  now.  The  newsboy,  silenced  by  such 


24  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

opulence,  was  drawing  nearer,  mouth  wide  but 
hushed.  Mr.  Dodge  foresaw  the  inevitable  just 
before  it  happened. 

"Git  out  of  the  way,  there,"  he  whispered  franti 
cally,  waving  his  arms  in  an  unmistakable  "shooing" 
gesture.  "Look  out — look  out " 

T.  Elihu,  attempting  to  avoid  the  dog's  lusty 
lunges  at  the  same  instant  when  the  newsboy,  hoping 
to  get  in  a  surreptitious  pat,  had  edged  a  little  too 
close,  suddenly  set  one  square  heel  upon  a  bare  foot. 
The  boy  howled  his  anguish  to  the  skies. 

At  the  outcry  an  expression  frankly  annoyed  and 
intolerant  of  such  clumsy  interruption  passed  over 
the  Reverend  Duncan's  countenance.  Mr.  Dodge's 
face  became  darkly  suffused. 

"There,  I  knew  it!"  he  growled.  "Why  don't 
that  fool  boy  get  out  from  under  foot!" 

But  the  question  was  already  bootless.  The  boy 
had  done  so,  limpingly,  falling  back  aghast  before 
the  rage  of  the  huge  one  who,  in  a  bull-voice, 
commanded  that  he  efface  himself.  Then,  ignoring 
the  outstretched  hand,  T.  Elihu  seized  his  son  by  the 
shoulders.  It  was  a  bearlike  embrace,  spontaneous, 
shamelessly  hearty  and  sentimental.  The  reverend 
gentleman's  approval  returned;  his  expression  waxed 
benign.  Even  the  porter,  a  child  of  the  theatrical, 
played  up  to  the  best  that  was  in  him.  His  air  of 
importance  was  increased  by  half. 

The  trio  turned  at  length  to  the  barouche.    Sidney 


AS  THE  CURTAIN  RISES  25, 

seated  himself  back  to  the  driver,  beside  a  pile  of 
luggage  liberally  besprinkled  with  labels  and  a 
golf-bag  and  canvas-covered  tennis-racket.  Now  the 
porter  was  lifting  his  cap ;  the  coachman  flirted  his 
whip  and  the  grays  started  prancingly.  The  Rev 
erend  Watson  Duncan  was  shaking  hands  with 
Sidney  as  they  came  around  in  a  splendid  circle.  One 
of  T.  Elihu's  remarkably  soft  and  smooth  hands  lay 
upon  his  son's  knee.  It  was  an  affecting  sight.  The 
drummer  could  not  forego  a  small  sigh  and  over 
hearing  it,  Mr.  Dodge  tore  his  eyes  away  to  smile 
patronizingly  upon  him.  Mine  host  had  no  way  of 
knowing  that  the  black-and-white  checked  suit  was 
behind  this  breath  of  envy,  and  not  a  belated 
realization  of  inherent  inferiority. 

"I  tell  you  it  does  a  man  good  to  see  a  thing  like 
that  once  in  a  while,"  said  Mr.  Dodge.  "Yes,  sir, 
it  certainly  does.  It — it's  a  sermon  in  itself,  just  as 
much  as  any  the  Reverend  Duncan  preaches — and 
he's  some  preacher,  I'm  here  to  state.  I  remember, 
now.  Somebody  did  tell  me  that  T.  Elihu's  son  was 
studyin'  too  hard,  and  the  old  man'd  sent  for  him 
to  come  home  and  rest  a  while.  He's  been  away  to 
school  in  New  York — summer  school.  And  don't 
T.  Elihu  think  a  lot  of  that  boy?  Did  yuh  see  him 
grab  him  ?  A  big-hearted  man — a  mighty  big-hearted 
man!  Where  would  you  look  to  find  one  who  has 
accomplished  all  that  he  has,  and  still  stayed  tender 
hearted?" 


26  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

The  drummer  apparently  gave  it  up  without  a 
guess,  for  he  made  no  immediate  reply.  A  change, 
slight  but  significant,  had  come  over  this  commercial 
one.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  very  pensive. 

"Why  all  the  alibi?"  was  his  sole  comment,  and 
as  this  was  entirely  mental  it  had  no  effect  upon  Mr. 
Dodge. 

The  barouche  had  turned  to  the  right  into  Main 
Street,  five  blocks  north;  hopping  on  one  foot  the 
newsboy  had  reached  the  baggage-truck  and  was 
whimpering  softly  over  his  bruised  toes,  before  the 
"drummer"  spoke  aloud.  He  jerked  his  thumb 
toward  another  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the  station 
corner  which  had  come  up  in  time  to  witness  the  last 
act  of  Sidney's  reception — the  Reverend  Duncan's 
warm  handclasp. 

"Who's  your  other  friend?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Dodge  halted.  He  had  been  about  to  return 
indoors.  Now,  as  his  gaze  followed  the  drummer's 
pointing  thumb  his  face  hardened.  Hatred  no  less 
bitter  for  all  that  it  was  impersonal,  marred  the 
softness  of  feature  which  the  "sermon"  had  engen 
dered.  Oddly  enough  as  he  watched  this  expression 
grow,  the  "drummer"  seemed  to  smile. 


CHAPTER  II 

ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP 

WARCHESTER'S  dingy  station-shed,  unim- 
peachably  the  city  gate  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  it  was  never  mentioned  publicly  unless 
such  mention  was  unavoidable,  and  then  without 
pride,  roared  to  the  passage  of  many  trains.  Fast- 
flying  mails  and  expresses,  boastful  of  every  luxury 
and  time-saving  adjunct,  which  a  feverish  age  could 
demand;  slow-crawling  locals,  mean  and  lowly  and 
seeming  conscious  of  it — they  came  and  went  almost 
without  cessation,  achieving  daily  an  astonishing 
total,  bringing  and  bearing  away  every  known  man 
ner  of  man. 

Prominent  politicians  were  wont  to  shake  hands 
with  a  delegation  of  representative  citizens  from 
the  observation  platforms  of  their  specials,  or  if 
the  election  was  very  close  at  hand,  to  linger  long 
enough  to  extol  the  town's  points  of  superiority,  as 
well  as  those  of  their  own  doctrines.  Few  road 
companies,  dramatic  or  musical,  passed  without  a 
split  week  at  least  at  the  Palace  Theater  (the  house 
could  be  calculated  beforehand  to  a  dollar  if  the 
attraction  had  stirred  up  a  metropolitan  discussion 

27 


28  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

as  to  its  exact  moral  status).  And  now  and  again 
the  city  police  surprised  evidence  that  certain  quiet- 
spoken  gentlemen,  finding  other  fields  uncongenial, 
had  paused  to  test  the  excellence  of  Warchester 
time-locks. 

There  came  men  of  every  creed,  women  of  every 
code;  the  self-assured  and  self-seeking;  the  humble 
and  the  hungry;  spellbinder  and  highbinder;  bright- 
eyed  light  o'  love  and  dull-eyed  alien ;  those  who  spun 
their  webs  and  waited;  those  who  toiled  and  would 
continue  to  toil ;  the  affluent  who  viewed  the  eye  of 
the  needle  through  the  glass  of  their  own  magnified 
ego,  the  wretched  who  wondered  why;  exhorters 
beseeching  alms  for  a  distant  cause,  blandly  blind  to 
neighborhood  need: — rich  men  and  poor  men  and 
beggar  men,  and  women  in  velvet  gowns. 

Every  type  that  a  polyglot  civilization  could 
produce  drained  daily  through  that  dingy  station- 
shed,  for  Warchester,  located  upon  a  trunk-line 
which  connected  the  two  greatest  cities  on  the  eastern 
seaboard,  was  like  an  eddy  in  a  stream  which  never 
ceased  to  ebb  and  flow.  Some  bits  of  human  flotsam 
found  final  lodgment  in  this  backwash;  more  merely 
dallied  for  a  time,  to  be  caught  up  and  spun  on  again 
by  the  current,  and  only  one  custom  seemed  common 
to  them  all.  Each  wore  his  stamp  of  caste  or 
character  upon  his  sleeve,  if  not  a  true  one  then  that 
which  was  most  likely  to  prove  expeditious  and 
remunerative  in  the  end.  Casual  classification  was 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          29 

therefore  easy,  a  virtue  since  complicated  analysis 
was  going  out  of  vogue. 

It  was  only  because  the  arrival  of  Sidney  Esta- 
brook  Banks  had  set  him  to  moralizing  that  the 
"drummer"  on  the  Bay  State  veranda  vouchsafed 
the  solitary  figure  at  the  station  corner  the  second 
glance  which  led  to  conjecture. 

Obviously  he  had  descended  from  the  same  train 
which  had  brought  that  gorgeously  attired  young 
gentleman;  just  as  obviously  he  had  not  enjoyed  the 
ministrations  of  the  porter  and  his  brush.  For  his 
blue  serge  suit,  shiny  from  long  and  faithful  service, 
was  covered  with  coal  dust  and  cinders.  And  yet, 
just  as  a  largeness  of  limb  and  gesture  had  been 
Sidney  Banks'  most  compelling  bid  for  notice,  so  was 
the  first  impression  he  gave  one  of  immaculate 
cleanliness — a  paradoxical  thing,  when  one  con 
sidered  that  he  had  come  in  "riding  the  blind." 

In  point  of  fact  the  need  for  water,  both  inside 
and  out,  had  been  preying  upon  his  mind  long  before 
the  train  pulled  into  the  station.  A  pause  beneath 
the  drip  of  the  water-tank,  the  moment  he  crawled 
down  from  the  forward  coach,  and  not  an  excess  of 
hand-luggage,  had  delayed  his  official  appearance 
and  robbed  him  of  all  save  the  last  act  of  Sidney's 
welcome  home — the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan's 
warm  and  hearty  handclasp. 

His  throat  was  free  from  dust  now,  his  face  and 
hands  clean  and  white  with  an  even  pallor  which, 


30  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

coupled  with  his  slenderness,  made  one  wonder  just 
how  many  hours  had  passed  since  he  had  tasted 
nourishing  food;  that  is,  if  one  was  given  to  idle 
and  fruitless  surmise.  And  slender  he  was  to  a 
surprising  degree,  thin  of  waist  and  wrist  and  ankle. 
But  either  the  matter  of  food  was  not  troubling  him, 
or  else  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  a  lack  of  fulness 
beneath  his  belt,  for  he  seemed  in  no  hurry. 

Aimless  would  not  have  described  him  with 
exactitude.  Indeed,  as  he  stood  in  the  shadow, 
shifting  from  one  stiff  leg  to  the  other,  he  suggested 
rather  an  amiable  though  puzzled  "super"  in  life's 
human  comedy,  watching  from  the  wings  the  strut 
ting  principals  upon  the  stage,  thoughtfully  groping 
for  the  secret  of  their  acceptance,  a  little  apologetic 
for  his  own  very  existence.  A  faint  smile  upon  his 
supersensitive  lips,  mirthless  as  tears  yet  savoring 
not  at  all  of  such  emotion,  heightened  this  sugges 
tion.  His  eyes  were  blue  and  fine  and  steady,  mildly 
questioning  and  wistfully  self-deprecatory.  But  his 
nose,  thin  and  quite  long,  and  one  eyelid,  were  of  a 
different  quality.  The  latter  member  drawn  half 
shut,  a  trick  of  thought  apparently  or  a  habit 
contracted  while  the  scar  which  ran  from  brow  to 
hair  was  healing,  gave  his  face  a  peculiarly  quizzical 
expression.  It  looked  as  though  he  was  winking  to 
himself  over  some  choice  and  subtle  whimsy  all  his 
own. 

His     abstraction     was     complete     as     he    stood 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          31 

watching  the  barouche  disappear.  He  was  equally 
unaware  of  his  Bay  State  veranda  audience  and  the 
newsboy  on  the  truck,  who  had  stopped  whimpering 
to  gape  his  interest  again.  Even  to  Mr.  Dodge's 
first  comment,  growled  to  be  sure  but  audible 
enough,  failed  to  penetrate  his  serene  selfconscious- 
ness.  No  doubt  it  was  just  as  well.  The  manager's 
words  were  neither  dulcet  nor  overcordial. 

"So  you're  back  again,  are  you?"  Malignance 
characterized  the  question,  and  not  expectation  of  a 
reply.  "Just  when  we  were  beginning  to  think  we 
might  be  rid  of  you  for  good." 

The  "drummer"  had  enjoyed  the  change  which 
his  first  query  worked  in  the  expression  upon  Mr. 
Dodge's  face.  He  feigned  not  to  notice  this  verbal 
venom  in  supplementing  it. 

"Then  you  know  him,  do  you?"  he  asked. 

"Know  him  1  Who  don't — in  this  town  1  That's 
Jimmy  Gordon,  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan's 
good-for-nothing  stepson  come  home  again.  He's 
T.  Elihu's  nephew,  too — Watson  Duncan  married 
Mathilda  Gordon,  T.  Elihu's  widowed  sister.  Like 
father,  like  son!  Gordon,  he  never  amounted 

Mr.  Dodge  would  have  elaborated  his  views  on 
heredity,  had  not  the  "drummer"  interrupted. 

"No-o-o!"  exclaimed  he,  and  he  succeeded  in 
hiding  all  hint  of  malicious  intent.  "You  don't  say  I 
T.  Elihu's  nephew — and  the  dominie's  stepson?" 


32  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

The  round  face  came  up  suddenly.  An  awkward 
aspect  of  the  situation  had  obtruded  itself.  "But 
why  didn't  they  wait  for  him,  and  make  the  reunion 
complete?  Why  didn't  they  take  him  along — but 
then,  of  course,  they  weren't  expecting  him." 

Mr.  Dodge  favored  his  transient  guest  with  a 
flicker  of  suspicion.  Soon  or  late,  in  his  experience, 
such  a  person  was  sure  to  speak  in  disparagement 
of  Warchester,  its  worthiest  inhabitants,  its  habits 
and  institutions.  It  was  a  characteristic  of  the  breed, 
undoubtedly;  one  to  be  met  with  chill  and  cutting 
dignity.  They  invariably  referred  to  Manhattan  as 
the  "big  town;"  to  Warchester  as  a  "nice  little 
burg."  Patronage  was  their  most  maddening 
weapon,  insinuation  their  method  of  attack.  So  Mr. 
Dodge  was  set  for  the  encounter  when  he  turned, 
but  the  plump  drummer's  palpable  innocence  dis 
armed  him.  He  fell  back  upon  sarcasm. 

"Expect  him!  Take  him  along!  Say,  I  guess 
you  haven't  been  very  long  in  this  town,  have  you? 
Otherwise  you'd  know  that  it's  hard  enough  on  the 
Reverend  Duncan  to  have  to  own  him  as  a  son,  even 
if  it  isn't  a  tie  of  blood;  bad  enough  to  have  to  feed 
and  clothe  him,  without  parading  his  shame  publicly 
around  the  streets.  And  T.  Elihu — "  thought  in  that 
quarter  may  have  rendered  him  speechless,  or  maybe 
he  merely  paused  to  dress  his  words  in  Sunday 
phrases — "well,  you  had  a  good  look  at  him  a 
minute  ago.  Big-hearted,  but  hard  as  granite  when 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          33 

he  knows  he's  right,  T.  Elihu  is.  And  he  was  set 
against  his  sister's  marriage  to  Gordon  from  the 
first.  If  the  truth's  told  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  what 
she's  been  praying  for  the  last  four  months  that  he 
was  gone  for  good — and  little  blame  to  her,  either." 

"Hum-m-m,"  murmured  the  drummer.  "He 
doesn't  look  so — so — he  doesn't  look  it.  Kind  of 
limp  and  dusty  and  done-out.  But  then,"  ostensibly 
wishing  no  argument,  "but  then,  looks  are  always 
deceiving." 

"You  bet  they  are!" 

Explosively  emphatic  but  mollified,  Mr.  Dodge 
proceeded  to  give  his  attention  to  the  one  under 
discussion.  The  latter  was  still  immobile,  but 
solitary  no  longer,  for  he  was  being  joined  at  that 
moment  by  a  dog — odd  coincidence,  a  dog  which, 
compared  with  the  white  bull-terrier,  paralleled  the 
contrast  which  the  drummer  had  been  considering 
between  the  arrival  in  blue  serge  and  the  one  in 
checkered  plaid. 

Not  that  the  canine  newcomer  was  less  than  a 
thoroughbred,  or  suffered  by  the  comparison.  If 
anything  it  was  the  reverse.  His  pink  and  whiteness 
once  removed  from  sight,  the  bull-terrier  was  best 
remembered  for  his  indiscriminate  lavishment  of 
affection.  One  forgot  his  perfection  of  bulging 
muscles,  his  splendid  physical  condition,  in  recalling 
how  decidedly  he  had  lacked  poise,  self-repression — 
the  uncalculated  carriage  of  the  worldly-wise  and 


34  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

truly  polished,  which  boisterous  effort  can  never  quite 
counterfeit. 

This  bearing  the  Airedale  had  and  more,  though 
his  environment  was  not  that  of  dog-biscuits  and  stiff 
bristle  brushes  to  which  the  terrier  belonged.  Sophis 
tication  marked  him,  acquired  in  ways  not  necessarily 
pleasant,  yet  possessed  without  bitterness.  He  did 
not  leap  or  fawn.  His  mind  as  he  trotted  into  view 
Was  strictly  upon  his  own  affairs;  his  overture  a 
non-committal  sniff,  tentative  without  seeming  to  be 
wary.  One  could  imagine  the  boy  with  the  quizzical 
nose  and  apologetic  eyes  prefacing  a  friendly  ad 
vance  with  a  smile  just  as  uncertain. 

The  sniff  proved  satisfactory;  the  short  and 
stumpy  tail  began  jerkily  to  wag.  But  there  the 
Airedale  waited.  Rebuff  or  recognition,  it  was  for 
the  other  to  bestow. 

For  an  instant  Jimmy  Gordon  made  move  toward 
neither.  He  stood  looking  down  without  clearly 
seeing  the  lean  head  and  bristly  body,  for  his  mind 
was  otherwise  occupied.  Then  he  blinked  and 
recovered  himself.  Still  deliberate,  very  gravely  he 
squatted  to  the  platform  and  drew  the  animal's  head 
against  his  cheek.  Lack  of  a  welcome  such  as  had 
awaited  Sidney  Banks,  since  he  had  expected  none, 
had  worked  no  unusual  emotion  in  Jimmy  Gordon, 
Realization  that  any  living  creature  was  glad  of  his 
return,  even  though  it  was  only  a  dog,  served  to 
betray  him  into  a  rare  surrender  to  impulse. 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          35 

The  Airedale  was  capable  of  understanding  just 
how  this  was.  In  a  lesser  way  he  was  a  wanderer 
and  unattached  himself.  His  mouth  lolled  open;  his 
body  stiffened;  the  stumped  tail  thumped  most 
mightily  upon  the  planking.  And  when  Jimmy 
Gordon  straightened  to  his  feet,  brushing  himself 
with  mechanical  care,  his  air  which  might  have  been 
called  aimless,  had  given  way  to  another,  still 
unhurried  and  abstracted,  but  unmistakably  purpose 
ful.  Evidently  the  dog  had  reminded  him  of  an 
obligation  to  be  dispatched  before  he  could  let 
himself  anticipate  a  moment  which  already  was 
bringing  a  tinge  of  color  to  his  cheeks. 

He  crossed  the  station  square  without  even  glanc 
ing  toward  the  Bay  State  veranda,  thus  adding  to 
the  manager's  grievance.  For  Mr.  Dodge,  right 
eously  resolved  to  favor  him  with  a  stony  glare,  was 
perforce  robbed  of  the  opportunity.  The  returned 
prodigal  turned  his  head  just  once,  to  smile  vaguely 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  newsboy  who  had  recovered 
from  his  stare  in  time  to  cry  shrilly,  "Ya-a-ay, 
Jimmy!  'N'd'yuh  git  in?"  Favoring  the  shady  side 
of  the  street,  preceded  by  the  dog  that  looked  back 
every  few  feet  to  see  if  he  was  following,  he  started 
up  Front  Street.  Mr.  Dodge  waited,  gazing 
anathema  at  the  thin  and  shiny  back,  became  con 
vinced  that  his  guest  was  not  to  do  the  sight  justice, 
and  set  himself  to  the  task. 

"T.  Elihu's  black  sheep  of  a  nephew."    He  sighed 


36  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

profoundly.  "I  suppose  there  is  a  skeleton  in  every 
family  cupboard,  but  it  doesn't  seem  so  bad  when 
you  can  keep  it  under  lock  and  key.  Just  look  at  the 
shine  of  those  breeches,  will  you,  and  the  fringe  at 
the  heels.  And  those  shoes.  A  nice  Sunday  get-up, 
isn't  it?" 

Once  more  the  drummer's  round  face  had  become 
less  cherubic,  but  his  voice  was  softer  and  more 
disarming  than  before. 

"Preachers'  salaries  aren't  the  biggest  in  the 
world,"  he  generously  defended  the  absent  man  of 
cloth.  "I  suppose  the  dominie  dresses  his  stepson  as 
well  as  he  can  afford." 

This  was  an  unlooked-for  reply,  totally  inhar 
monious  and  fundamentally  stupid.  Again  Mr. 
Dodge's  suspicion  flickered;  again  the  childlike 
blankness  of  the  drummer's  face  reassured  him. 

"Dress  him?"  In  every  debate  it  was  the  man 
ager's  way  to  repeat  his  adversary's  question,  as 
infallibly  as  an  interlocutor  feeding  lines  to  a 
minstrel  end-man.  "Dress  him !  He  ought  to  be 
thankful  that  they  don't  lock  the  door  in  his  face, 
and  turn  him  away  from  their  table." 

"As  bad  as  that,"  mused  the  traveling  man. 
"Just  what's  he  done — in  particular?" 

"Nothing."  The  speaker  could  not  have  men 
tioned  murder  with  bitterer  condemnation.  "Noth 
ing  yet  where  they  could  get  the  goods  on  him. 
When  they  do  they'll  welcome  him  home  with  a  pair 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          37 

of  handcuffs.  He's  never  done  anything.  Didn't 
finish  school  because  the  teachers  wouldn't  let  him 
study  what  he  wanted  to  learn,  instead  of  what  they 
wanted  to  learn  him.  Never  held  a  decent  job — 
never  did  a  stroke  of  real  work  in  his  life.  Cutting 
ice  in  the  winter  on  the  lake,  with  a  mob  of  loafers 
glad  enough  to  pick  up  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day,  to 
spend  on  liquor  to  keep  'em  warm,  instead  of  an 
overcoat.  Hanging  around  the  livery  stables  in 
summer  working  on  a  furniture  van,  or  driving  a 
night-hack,  carting  God-knows-who,  God-knows- 
where.  You  saw  that  yellow  cur  walk  up  and  recog 
nize  him,  didn't  you?" 

"Why,  yes,"  the  drummer's  instant  affirmative  was 
almost  enthusiastic.  "Yes,  I  noticed  the  dog  par 
ticularly.  As  good  an  Airedale  as  I  ever  looked  at, 
from  a  distance,  anyway.  Seemed  to  know  him — 
seemed  to  like  him,  too." 

"Why  wouldn't  he?"  demanded  the  manager  tri 
umphantly.  "That  was  Pegleg  Hanlon's  dog.  And 
Hanlon's  is  Jimmy  Gordon's  hang-out.  They're  the 
folks  he  runs  with,  the  gang  of  crooks  and  yeggs 
who  buy  drinks  for  the  Palace  Theater  girls  who  live 
there.  They'll  all  be  glad  to  see  him  back,  don't 
worry.  Though  why  they  should  be  is  beyond  me. 
I'll  bet  two  to  one  that  he  hasn't  a  red  cent  in  his 
pockets." 

Ordinarily  the  drummer  would  have  closed  imme 
diately,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  because  the  odds 


3.8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

were  attractive.  And  though  he  let  the  opportunity 
slip,  it  was  a  rash  offer  on  Mr.  Dodge's  part,  as 
Jimmy  Gordon's  immediate  movements  proved. 

Three  blocks  down  the  street  the  latter  entered 
Harry  Tracy's  corner  cigar  store,  invested  a  coin 
in  a  package  of  cigarettes  to  be  recommended  not 
for  blend  or  favor,  but  for  their  cheapness  (twenty 
for  a  nickel)  and  reappeared,  smoking,  just  when  the 
Airedale  was  retracing  his  steps  regretfully,  to  look 
into  this  dereliction. 

Four  months  previous  Jimmy  Gordon  had  left 
Warchester  (a  fast  freight  almost  jerked  an  arm 
from  a  socket  on  that  occasion,  when  he  misjudged 
its  speed  in  the  darkness)  with  a  greasy  two  dollar 
bill,  a  half  dollar  and  a  nickel  in  his  possession.  The 
bill  was  still  with  him,  tucked  away  in  a  vest  pocket, 
a  fund  to  be  drawn  upon  only  in  the  last  extremity; 
the  half  dollar  had  proved  to  be  a  disappointing 
sham ;  and  the  nickel,  not  the  same  one  but  good  coin 
of  the  realm  acquired  elsewhere  and  brought  back  to 
be  squandered  upon  home  trade  (one  of  T.  Elihu's 
admonishments),  rounded  out  the  total — a  record  to 
be  envied  by  any  tourist  returning  home  after  many 
weeks  in  strange  scenes. 

This  show  of  solvency  failed  however  to  discon 
cert  Mr.  Dodge.  Instead  he  laughed  suddenly  as 
though  the  sight  of  the  cigarette  had  recalled  a 
particularly  good  joke  until  then  overlooked. 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          39 

"Yeggs  and  crooks  and  chorus  women — and  I 
heard  only  last  week  the  reason  he  gave  for  asso- 
ciatin'  with  them.  He  said  some  day  he  was  going 
to  write;  said  he  was  going  to  put  people  like 
Hanlon's  crowd  into  a  story,  so  that  people  would 
understand  'em  better,  and  blame  'em  less !  Can  you 
beat  that?  And  who  do  you  suppose  he  said  it  to? 
To  T.  Elihu !  He  was  bracin'  T.  Elihu  for  a  job  on 
the  Gazette,  I  hear.  And  T.  Elihu — "  the  exquisite 
humor  which  that  interview  must  have  afforded 
rendered  Mr.  Dodge  almost  inarticulate — "T.  Elihu 
said  he  had  a  police  court  reporter  already,  to  cover 
that  sort  of  story.  Coin'  to  be  an  author!  And  him 
old  enough  next  year  to  vote — and  a  top  price  he'll 
get  for  it,  too,  don't  doubt  that.  I  wish  I  could  have 
been  there  and  seen  T.  Elihu's  face.  They  say  he 
just  set  behind  his  desk  and  pointed  to  the  door  and 
turned  him  out  without  openin'  his  lips.  Watch 
now!  You  watch  and  see  if  he  don't  turn  to  the 
right.  Hanlon's  is  back  of  the  Palace  Theater, 
three  blocks  down." 

It  proved  to  be  a  fair  prophecy,  though  Jimmy 
Gordon  wavered  irresolute  at  the  corner.  Desire 
lay  in  another  direction,  but  the  mission  which  led 
to  Hanlon's  was  in  the  nature  of  a  trust.  He 
wheeled,  the  Airedale  gave  a  pleased  skip  or  two, 
and  Mr.  Dodge's  voice  leaped  with  elation. 

"What  did  I  tell  you !"  he  cried.  "Now  isn't  that 
pretty  hard  on  his  folks  ?  I  tell  you  it  isn't  such  a 


40  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

long  step  from  runnin'  with  thieves  to  burglary 
itself;  nor  such  a  long  step  from  burglary  to  the 
chair.  It's  a  good  thing  T.  Elihu  has  a  son  of  his 
own  he  can  be  proud  of." 

With  that  dark  hint,  capped  by  a  benevolent 
conclusion,  a  sort  of  softness  returned  to  Mr. 
Dodge's  features.  Jimmy  Gordon's  digression  from 
the  paths  of  hope  could  have  had  nothing  to  do  with 
a  look  so  unctuous.  It  must  have  sprung  from  a 
renewed  appreciation  of  the  "sermon"  to  be  found 
in  Sidney's  welcome  home.  The  Bay  State  manager 
had  all  but  reached  the  open  door  when  the  drummer 
halted  him.  He  was  contemplating  the  Sunday  issue 
of  the  Gazette,  lying  at  his  feet,  open  to  the  page 
which  carried  T.  Elihu's  few,  eulogistic  remarks. 

"This  Pegleg  Hanlon's  place?"  the  stranded  one 
inquired  softly.  "Just  what  sort  of  a  place  is  it?" 

A  roguish  smile  rose  and  marred  Mr.  Dodge's 
Sabbath  expression — a  smile  most  broad  and  mean 
ingful.  He  winked. 

"A  joint,"  he  said,  "and  one  of  the  lowest  in  the 
town." 

"But — but — "  the  drummer  seemed  to  flounder. 
"But  I  thought  that  there  weren't  any  such  rotten 
spots  in  this  fair  and  flowered  community?" 

Mr.  Dodge  had  been  expecting  it  all  along.  He 
should  have  known  better  than  to  lower  his  guard. 
This  one  was  a  "smart  Aleck"  like  all  the  rest,  only 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          41 

a  little  cleverer  in  his  insinuation.  Angry  blood 
surged  into  the  Bay  State  manager's  face. 

"You  did,  eh?"  Insult  he  contrived  to  convey  for 
powers  of  observation  so  stunted.  "You  thought  so  I 
Well,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  we've  got  as  bad  a 
red-light  district  in  this  town  as  any  place  twice  its 
size  in  the  east.  After  twelve  o'clock  it's  no  place 
for  an — an  amateur.  I  guess  you  haven't  been  very 
long  in  Warchester!" 

Some  fat  men  are  capable  of  marvelously  quick 
movement.  The  drummer  was.  He  swung  around 
in  his  chair  so  abruptly  that  Mr.  Dodge  fell  back  in 
some  disorder.  But  the  drummer  remained  seated. 
His  voice  held  level.  So  did  the  eyes  that  rested 
upon  the  manager's  face — altogether  too  level. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  he  drawled,  "and  I'm  not  staying 
an  hour  longer  than  I  have  to,  either.  Did  I  hear 
your  telephone  ring — or  didn't  I?" 

Such  white  rage  over  a  matter  of  geography  was 
incomprehensible.  Mr.  Dodge  had  meant  only  to 
resent  a  slighting  allusion  to  Warchester's  complete 
cityhood. 

"I — I  guess  you  did,"  he  accepted  his  cue  mum- 
blingly.  "Somebody  must  want  to  speak  to  me." 

And  he  betook  himself  and  a  permanent  hatred  of 
commercial  transients  inside.  For  a  moment  fol 
lowing  his  departure  the  drummer  sat  breathing 
heavily.  Then  he  broke  into  a  smothered  chuckle. 
Little  by  little  placidity  of  a  kind  returned,  and  he 


42  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

was  communing  with  himself  again,  when  the  supper 
bell  rang  for  the  last  time. 

"Yup,"  he  muttered  as  he  rose,  "the  dog  sure  did 
like  him.  He  sure  did.  But  then,  most  dogs  have 
pretty  good  sense,  till  they're  taught  different." 

In  the  dining-room  a  waitress  with  fluffy  hair 
and  almond  eyes  caught  his  summoning  nod.  She 
approached  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  for  she  was 
known  as  a  favorite  with  the  "trade."  But  the  words 
he  spoke  into  the  ear  she  held  too  close  to  his  face 
wrought  a  complete  change  in  the  simper  upon  her 
lips. 

"I  see  Jimmy  Gordon's  got  back,"  the  drummer 
said  chattily.  "Know  him,  do  you?" 

The  girl's  challenge  changed  to  furtiveness.  She 
wet  her  lips  with  a  nervous  tongue  and  looked  to  see 
if  anyone  had  heard,  who  might  carry  the  question  to 
Mr.  Dodge's  ears. 

"I — I — "  she  stammered,  and  there  the  drummer 
spared  her. 

"All  right.  I  get  you,"  he  broke  in.  "Bring  me 
some  coffee,  will  you,  Little  One?  I  like  it  warm,  at 
least — and  I  can  drink  it  hot  if  I  have  to." 

The  girl  hesitated.  These  words  were  of  a 
language  she  understood,  but  the  tone  employed 
baffled  her  none  too  quick  brain.  She  would  have 
thought  it  kindly  and  respectful,  only  such  a  possi 
bility  was  out  of  the  question.  Furtiveness  still 


ENTER  THE  BLACK  SHEEP          43 

marred  her  cheap  prettiness  as  she  started  for  the 
kitchen. 

The  next  day  the  drummer  stopped  for  one  last 
look  up  Front  Street,  before  he  boarded  his  train. 
The  thoroughfare  was  alive  with  traffic,  but  the 
gunner  and  his  mate  in  the  center  of  the  Common 
would  not  be  overlooked.  A  pitying  smile  edged  the 
departing  traveling-man's  lips  as  he  gazed  upon 
them.  He  addressed  his  farewell  words  to  the 
intrepid  pair. 

"You  poor  boobs,  you,"  he  broke  scathingly  into 
the  vernacular;  "you  poor  boobs !  Take  a  look  over 
your  shoulders  once  in  a  while.  Don't  you  know 
that  when  they  get  you  in  this  town,  they'll  do  it 
from  behind?" 


CHAPTER  III 

,  SPEAKING  OF  DOGS 

CERTAIN  now  that  his  destination  and  Jimmy 
Gordon's  was  a  common  one,  the  Airedale 
abandoned  all  anxiety  on  that  score. 

Main  Street  was  less  deserted  than  the  thorough 
fare  down  which  they  had  come.  To  the  right  in 
front  of  Hicks'  drug  store  a  dark  green  suburban 
car  stood  on  a  switch;  on  curb  and  sidewalk  strag 
gling  knots  of  passengers  were  waiting  to  transfer  to 
another  which  made  connection  at  this  point  for 
another  district.  And  although  the  great  man  him 
self  had  passed  from  sight,  accompanied  by  the 
Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  those  "transfers"  who 
were  on  terms  of  familiarity  with  the  glittering 
equipage  were  indicating  where  it  stood  before  the 
Gazette  offices,  for  the  benefit  of  fellow-passengers 
less  blessed,  a  touch  of  patronage  kindly,  though  a 
bit  astonished  at  ignorance  so  provincial,  coloring 
this  Samaritan  service. 

Naturally  the  attention  which  the  kindred  way 
farers  attracted  was  negligible  in  the  extreme. 
Disaster  has  a  cynical  habit  of  edging  into  a  scene 
in  just  such  a  casual  fashion.  Their  appearance 
was  marked  by  no  one  except  Sidney  Banks,  lolling 

44 


SPEAKING  OF  DOGS  45 

back  upon  the  plum  upholstery,  and  one  lA.be! 
Thompson,  citizen  of  color,  seated  upon  the  low  step 
of  the  Palace  Theater  lobby,  directly  across  the  way. 
Sidney,  apprised  of  the  Airedale's  approach  by  a 
sudden  tug  upon  the  white  bull-terrier's  leash,  was 
too  immediately  taken  with  inspiration  to  have  eyes 
for  the  one  who  followed  after.  And  Abel's  recog 
nition  of  dog  and  human,  while  complete,  was 
entirely  subconscious.  Mr.  Thompson's  was  a  semi- 
hypnotic  state,  brought  about  partly  by  idolatrous 
consideration  of  that  tan  top-coat  and  checkered 
suit,  partly  by  envious  reconstruction  of  a  choice 
bit  of  gossip  which  had  heralded  the  wearer's  return 
to  Warchester. 

Persistent  rumor  had  it  that  a  possible  hasty 
alliance  with  a  lady  of  the  footlights  who  worried 
her  head  not  at  all  over  engagements  theatrical  was 
responsible  for  T.  Elihu's  concern  for  the  health  of 
his  only  son.  People  of  high  degree  and  low  had 
been  chuckling  over  it  for  days — chuckling  as  if  it 
was  a  good  joke  upon  T.  Elihu  (a  great  joker 
himself!)  and  an  amusing  escapade  not  at  all  to  be 
condemned,  though  to  be  mentioned  and  enjoyed 
discreetly,  of  course.  This  was  Mr.  Thompson's 
view  of  the  affair.  He  was  rolling  the  piquant 
morsel  upon  his  tongue  and  regretting  the  perhaps 
too  impetuous  purchase  of  a  delicate  green  creation 
striped  with  purple  which  he  was  wearing,  when  the 
first  hint  of  trouble  to  come  compelled  him  to 


46  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

relegate   both   thoughts   temporarily   to   the   back 
ground. 

The  Airedale   outstripped  Jimmy  Gordon.     He 
came  up  at  a  trot,  pausing  in  the  head  of  the  alley 
which,  piled  high  with  discarded  scenery  and  less 
recognizable  junk,  ran  past  the  Palace  stage-door  to 
the  entrance  of  Hanlon's  hotel  in  the  rear,  to  give 
the  gentleman  of  color,  also  a  friend  of  his,  a  wag 
or    two    and    a    measuring    glance.     By    his    own 
description  Abel  Thompson  was  an  assistant  stage- 
manager  of  the  theater;  by  force  of  circumstance, 
property-boy  and  raiser-back  and  the  good-natured 
butt  of  all  abuse  which  had  no  other  safe  outlet.  And 
as  he  was  often  called  upon  to  exercise  his  talents  as 
night  chef  in  Hanlon's,  between  seasons  as  picket  at 
the  stage-door,  from  the  Airedale's  point  of  view  he 
was  a  personage  particularly  worthy  of  cultivation. 
Abel  was  reaching  out  a  reciprocating  hand  when  he 
noted,  with  a  distinct  shock,  that  the  bull-terrier  no 
longer  occupied  a  space  on  the  seat  beside  his  master. 
A  moment  earlier   Mr.   Thompson   could  have 
sworn  with  a  clear  conscience,  that  a  leash  held  the 
madly  straining  white  animal  in  check — a  mistake, 
however,   on  the   face   of  it,   for   the   terrier  was 
already  down  upon  the  pavement,  his  whimper  a 
low  muttering,  his  intent  anything  but  obscure.    In 
stantly   Mr.   Thompson   drew   back   his   hand,    so 
quickly  that  one  might  have  thought  he  was  estab 
lishing  an  alibi,  come  what  might.     And  his  lazy 


SPEAKING  OF  DOGS  4? 

click  of  invitation  became  a  command  made  stern  by 
necessity. 

"Go  'long,  you  yalla  dawg!"  he  ordered  crisply. 
"Go  'long  'bout  yuh  own  affairs,  Oh  Boy." 

But  the  Airedale  only  blinked  back  at  him,  singu 
larly  out  of  sympathy  with  such  incipient  panic.  He 
failed  to  change  his  position  in  the  slightest  degree, 
except  that  he  turned  his  head  slightly,  to  survey 
the  terrier  with  a  look  neither  prolonged  nor 
inimical.  And  yet  the  anxiety  which  this  serenity 
promptly  provoked  indicated  that  Mr.  Thompson 
was  familiar  with  the  symptom.  He  raised  a 
troubled  face  toward  the  barouche,  opened  his 
mouth,  and  became  instantly  uncertain  how  to  pro 
ceed. 

There  were  certain  liberties  which  white  folks 
tolerated;  certain  impertinences  which  seemed  to 
amuse  and  even  flatter  them.  Interference,  on  the 
other  hand,  with  their  preconceived  notions  invari 
ably  made  them  peevish — a  barely  believable  phase 
of  the  present  situation.  Sidney  Banks  was  occupied 
with  the  Sunday  paper — most  elaborately  occupied 
in  fact,  TBut  had  he  been  put  to  it,  again  Mr.  Thomp 
son  could  have  sworn,  conscience  clear,  that  a  faint 
s-s-s-s-s  was  arising  from  the  general  direction  of  the 
barouche.  Stifling  the  well-meant  impulse,  he  rolled 
his  eyes  in  delighted  anticipation,  until  the  whites 
shone  like  china  marbles.  He  swung  from  the  stiff- 
legged  advance  of  the  white  terrier  to  glimpse  the 


48  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Airedale,  back  still  turned  and  deep  in  thought,  and 
suffered  a  reaction.  It  was  a  sacrifice,  especially  in 
the  face  of  that  suspected  s-s-s,  but  Mr.  Thompson 
did  his  duty  as  he  saw  it. 

"Bet'  call  yuh  dawg,  Mist'  Banks,"  he  lifted  his 
voice  apologetically.  "Bet'  call  yuh  dawg!" 

Mr.  Banks  raised  his  head,  looking  in  several 
wrong  directions  before  his  gaze  found  the  point 
from  which  this  suggestion  had  come.  Thereupon 
he  smiled  with  careless  lack  of  comprehension,  and 
turned  a  page  of  his  paper.  Presently  the  s-s-s-s  rose 
a  little  louder,  and  urged  by  it  and  morally  fortified, 
the  terrier  stepped  more  jerkily,  the  mutter  a  swell 
ing  menace  in  his  throat.  He  closed  the  last  few  feet 
which  separated  him  from  his  chosen  prey  with  a 
whirlwind  rush.  But  the  threatened  annihilation 
was  momentarily  delayed. 

Without  excessive  effort  the  Airedale  side-stepped 
and  avoided  the  flashing  teeth  and  wide  pink  jaws. 
Half  facing  away  from  the  terrier,  whose  rush  had 
shot  him  across  the  sidewalk,  he  turned  questioning 
eyes  upon  the  face  of  Mr.  Abel  Thompson.  The 
latter's  concern  deepened  to  dismay.  This  also  was 
a  symptom. 

"Bet'  call  yuh  dawg,  Mist'  Banks,"  he  repeated, 
and  dared  plead  urgency  now.  "Bet'  call  him  off. 
He  go'  git'nto  trouble,  'f'yuh  don'." 

The  warning  was  heartfelt  and  sincere,  but  it  came 
too  late.  Sidney  Banks  lifted  vexed  features,  but  he 


SPEAKING  OF  DOGS  49 

had  no  time  in  which  to  register  protest  against  the 
uninvited  freedom  of  address  in  which  the  gentleman 
of  color  was  indulging  himself.  At  that  instant  the 
bull-terrier  decided  that  this  antagonist  was  too 
cowardly,  too  utterly  craven,  for  the  employment  of 
caution.  If  he  wouldn't  turn  and  fight,  it  were  best 
to  mete  out  speedy  destruction  and  have  done  with 
it.  He  tore  in  again.  Again,  his  gaze  harassed  now, 
the  Airedale  shifted  and  came  clear.  And  then  a 
dusty,  blue-serge  clad  figure  threw  a  shadow  across 
Mr.  Thompson's  paling  face. 

"Take  care  of  yourself,  Oh  Boy,"  a  still  voice 
said. 

Jimmy  Gordon,  covering  ground  more  slowly,  had 
come  up  with  his  friend.  He  was  leaning  against  a 
brick  corner  of  the  alley.  And  though  the  words 
were  barely  audible,  gravely  unimpassioned  and  so 
entirely  detached  that  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say 
who  had  spoken  them,  the  Airedale  beseeched  Mr. 
Thompson  no  longer. 

He  faced  the  terrier.  He  dropped  his  head  until 
the  lean  muzzle  barely  cleared  the  ground.  And 
when  the  bull,  whining  his  approval  of  this  final 
stand,  circled  and  bunched  his  splendid  muscles,  calm 
as  a  trained  boxer  he  side-stepped  once  more.  But 
no  lull  followed  this  maneuver.  Action  fairly  blurred 
that  section  of  the  sidewalk  before  the  Palace 
Theater.  Riot  rose  and  rent  the  Sabbath  hush. 

At  the  terrier's  first  pained  yelp  the  throng  of 


50  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"transfers"  surged  southward.  Before  they  had 
crossed  the  street  the  soda  clerk  from  Hicks'  and  the 
car  crew  were  pelting  at  their  heels.  One  and  all,  as 
they  ranged  up,  breathless  but  joyous,  they  were 
certain  only  as  to  the  number  of  white  dogs  involved. 
The  number  of  yellow  ones  baffled  calculation. 

For  the  Airedaile  moved  too  rapidly  to  be  fol 
lowed  with  the  eye.  He  fought  soundlessly  as  well, 
the  terrier  for  a  time  making  noise  enough  for  both. 
Yet  even  Sidney  Banks,  standing  up  in  the  barouche 
across  the  street,  the  better  to  watch  the  combat  all 
but  obscured  from  him,  did  not  realize  how  swift 
and  deadly  was  his  work.  But  when  a  particu 
larly  high  and  piercing  howl  ended  abruptly  in  an 
ominous,  bubbly  gurgle,  Jimmy  Gordon,  the  only 
aloof  and  unmoved  spectator,  was  constrained  to  act. 

He  broke  through  the  throng  and  fell  to  his  knee 
beside  the  writhing  bodies.  It  was  time  enough,  for 
the  terrier's  gasps  were  wheezelike,  his  throat 
stained  crimson.  Dashing  up  in  Jimmy  Gordon's 
wake,  the  confident  smile  wiped  from  his  lips,  Sidney 
arrived  just  as  the  yellow  dog's  jaws  were  relaxing 
beneath  the  thin  fingers'  pressure.  Livid  at  the  sight 
of  the  prostrate  victim  which  the  Airedale  relin 
quished  with  reluctance,  Sidney  set  himself  and  raised 
his  heavy  stick.  It  fell,  and  rose  and  fell  again.  The 
first  blow  struck  full  across  the  Airedale's  quiet  head; 
the  second  laid  the  knuckles  of  one  of  Jimmy 
Gordon's  hands  open  to  the  bone. 


SPEAKING  OF  DOGS  51 

Staggering  the  yellow  dog  drew  away  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  alley  that  led  to  Hanlon's.  Dazed 
he  was  unable  to  dodge,  and  one  of  Sidney's  boots 
raised  and  carried  him  much  of  the  distance.  He 
lay  for  a  moment  where  he  fell,  breathing  sobbingly, 
before  he  tottered  on.  Sidney  had  the  bull-terrier  in 
his  arms  when  Jimmy  Gordon  straightened.  He, 
too,  like  the  Airedale,  swayed  a  little.  He  looked  at 
his  hand — looked  up  and  smiled  deprecatingly. 

"Hello,  Sid,  how  are  you?"  he  said.  "Gee,  look 
at  that !  You  cut  my  hand  clean  to  the  bone." 

There  was  no  resentment  in  the  attention  he  called 
to  his  wound.  It  was  simply  a  part  of  his  wholly 
mild  and  curiously  impersonal  greeting.  For  answer 
Sidney  shouldered  him  to  one  side.  And  the  crowd 
of  enthusiasts,  their  ardor  already  dampened,  were 
watching  him  carry  the  broken  bull-terrier  back  to 
the  barouche,  when  Abel  Thompson,  whose  ecstasy 
had  been  spontaneous,  chancing  to  roll  his  eyes  aloft, 
delivered  himself  of  a  horrified  snort. 

"Glory  to  Moses,"  breathed  that  gentleman  of 
color.  "Glory  to  Moses — look  darl" 

Having  spoken  he  turned  and  ducked  from  sight. 
And  when  those  who  heard  it  obeyed  his  injunction, 
they  too  found  immediate  motion  indispensable  to 
comfort. 

In  a  second  story  window  of  the  Gazette  building 
across  the  street  loomed  T.  Elihu  Banks,  his  great 


52  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

bulk  not  quite  filling  the  aperture,  his  purple  face 
appalling.  Very  plainly  he,  too,  had  been  witness 
of  the  encounter;  his  attitude  toward  such  sacrilege 
was  alarmingly  evident.  At  the  first  stiff  gesture 
which  he  flung  at  it  the  rabble  dispersed — that  is,  all 
but  the  thin  and  tired  figure  in  shiny  blue  serge.  And 
in  the  latter' s  remaining  upon  the  stricken  field  there 
should  be  read  nothing  heroic.  He  was  too  wholly 
intent  upon  his  hurt  hand  to  see  anything  else  for  a 
moment  or  two,  though  to  the  Jovian  figure  his 
conduct  savored  of  defiance  no  doubt.  Jimmy 
Gordon  stood  all  alone  when  he  finally  raised  his 
head. 

A  less  preoccupied  person  would  have  flinched,  if 
only  involuntarily,  before  that  blasting  wrath, 
flanked  by  the  pallid  rage  of  the  Reverend  Watson 
Duncan  and  the  sheer  distaste  of  Mr.  J.  J.  Latham. 
Jimmy  merely  blinked — a  rascally  clever  simulation 
of  surprise!  Next  he  smiled,  and  the  slightly 
crooked  grin  rendered  misconstruction  in  the  other 
quarter  impossible.  He  even  dared  brazenly  to  nod 
his  head  in  greeting,  and  though  the  window  was 
closed  and  the  distance  considerable,  Jimmy  heard 
T.  Elihu  roar.  The  words  which  the  town's  great 
man  addressed  to  the  man  of  cloth  were  indistin 
guishable;  their  probable  gist  gave  the  boy  little 
trouble  to  guess.  Near  the  stage-door  he  met  Mr. 
Thompson  returning  to  see  what  had  happened. 
This  mercurial  one  had  recovered  entirely  from  his 


SPEAKING  OF  DOGS  53 

brief  glimpse  of  T.  Elihu's  face,  and  craved  another. 

"Din  I  tole  'at  young  man  he  bet'  call  his  dawg?" 
he  chuckled  in  anything  but  a  chastened  voice.  "Din 
I  tole  him  twice?  What  business  a  white  bull-pup 
got  mixin'  with  Oh  Boy?  He's  some  warrior,  'at 
dawg — some  warrior!" 

Jimmy  nodded  his  thorough  accord  with  this 
sentiment,  but  he  seemed  little  inclined  to  talk.  As 
he  lifted  a  hand  to  brush  damp  hair  back  from  his 
forehead  blood  dripped  to  the  pavement.  The 
negro's  eyes  rolled  heavenward. 

"Lookit  'at  hand!!"  he  whispered.  "Fowl  Din 
he  lam  you?  Bet'  come  in  an'  lemme  wrop  it  up." 

His  eyes  again  apologetic  the  black  sheep  wheeled 
up  the  alley.  There  was  no  indecision  in  his  move 
ment,  no  thought  of  coming  at  his  destination  by 
a  less  observed  route  entered  his  head.  But  the 
weight  of  three  pairs  of  eyes  was  heavy  upon  his 
back,  the  presence  of  one  observer  a  fact  to  be 
regretted  in  the  extreme.  Devoutly  Jimmy  Gordon 
wished  that  J.  J.  Latham  might  have  been  elsewhere 
at  that  instant. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  GIRL  CALLED  MELODY 

HANLON'S  Hotel,  a  four-square  structure  of 
red  brick  better  known  as  Pegleg's  Place, 
stood  in  a  hollow  square  formed  by  three 
built-up  sides  of  the  city  block  and  "the  river."  The 
outlook,  therefore,  which  guests  of  this  doubtful 
hostelry  enjoyed  was  scarcely  one  to  be  recom 
mended  with  pride,  though  as  a  matter  of  record 
Hanlon's  patrons  were  little  given  to  a  consideration 
of  the  unsavory  litter  surrounding  the  back  doors 
of  these  edifices  of  better  repute,  or  the  stream  of 
water,  iridescent  with  oil  and  acid,  which  edged  the 
hotel  "park,"  a  court  of  crumpled  cement,  innocent 
of  tree  or  other  living,  green  thing,  and  aquiver  with 
August  heat. 

In  fact,  whenever  one  of  his  patrons  began  to 
frequent  too  persistently  the  rusted  iron  benches  with 
which  this  latter  expanse  was  dotted,  brooding  too 
openly  over  the  sluggish  current,  Hanlon,  watching 
without  seeming  to  watch,  invariably  found  an 
excuse  to  suggest  a  change  of  scene.  Conduct  un 
becoming  a  gentleman  or  a  lady,  evinced  by  a 
desire  to  swing  a  chair  or  scream  epithets  in  a  tone 
which  might  penetrate  the  alley  to  Main  Street, 
served  as  often  as  any;  general  arrears  in  bar  and 

54 


THE  GIRL  CALLED  MELODY          55 

board  not  at  all.  For  those  who  lived  in  Hanlon's 
were  of  a  peculiar  sensitiveness  in  some  matters,  of 
a  peculiar  punctility  as  well — a  trait  which  would 
have  surprised  an  outside  world  had  it  become 
general  knowledge.  Guests  paid  when  they  could, 
and  almost  never  failed  to  pay.  No  caste  was  lost 
simply  because  of  a  temporary  difference  of  opinion, 
backed  up  orally  or  physically,  as  the  case  might  be. 
So,  by  watchful  tact,  Hanlon  spared  their  feelings 
and  saved  his  house  unduly  gruesome  publicity  at 
the  same  time.  And  for  the  rest,  Interior  and 
exterior,  the  hotel  itself  was  spotless,  even  about  its 
back  door. 

The  front  office  through  which  Jimmy  Gordon 
made  his  entrance  from  the  alley  was  deserted  at 
that  hour.  Business  was  always  light  in  Hanlon's 
between  midday  and  nightfall,  the  stretch  from 
midnight  till  daybreak  witnessing  the  liveliest 
demonstrations.  And  a  larger  rear  room,  doubly 
light  by  contrast  with  the  long  and  dingy  passageway 
by  which  it  was  reached,  ostensibly  open  to  anyone, 
at  any  time,  by  its  very  accessibility,  manifested  but 
slighter  show  of  trade. 

A  single  couple  leaned  over  one  of  the  small  round 
tables  with  which  a  scant  dance  space  was  banked;  a 
lone  waiter  with  a  white  patch  of  apron  across  his 
thighs  leaned  against  a  window-sill,  back  to  his 
charges.  And  the  couple,  a  fox-faced  youth  and  a 
girl  with  a  white  plumed  hat,  seemed  oppressed  by 


56  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

the  weather;  the  waiter  indifferent  to  the  point  of 
stupidity.  Hope  of  diversion,  no  matter  how  trivial, 
showed  in  the  faces  of  all  three  as  they  turned  at 
the  sound  of  an  opening  door.  But  with  the  entrance 
of  Jimmy,  followed  by  the  gentleman  of  color  who, 
habitually  sensation-hungry  himself,  was  loath  to 
leave  that  injured  hand  in  the  absence  of  better 
divertisement,  all  similarity  of  expression  ended. 

The  waiter,  of  a  deceptively  flabby  expansiveness, 
continued  outwardly  indifferent,  though  his  air  of 
stupidity  left  him.  His  eyes  went  directly  to  the 
frayed  and  bleeding  knuckles;  he  appraised  them 
instantaneously,  calculating  the  extent  of  the  injury 
and  the  probable  finality,  for  the  time  being  at  least, 
of  the  affair  which  had  occasioned  the  damage. 
Such  was  the  waiter's  system.  And  his  incipient 
suspicion  had  become  actual  indifference  behind  his 
mask  of  apathy,  before  he  raised  his  eyes  and 
recognizing  the  owner  of  the  knuckles,  knew  beyond 
doubt  that  no  conflict  upon  the  premises  threatened. 
Neither  surprise  nor  curiosity  at  the  return  of  one 
whose  absence  had  been  more  than  once  remarked 
during  the  last  few  months  crossed  his  heavy  face. 
He  intruded  no  greeting  since  the  prodigal  was  quite 
evidently  occupied  with  thoughts  of  his  own.  The 
window-sill  creaked  under  massive  elbows  again. 
Again  the  waiter  seemed  stupid. 

The  other  man's  appraisal  of  the  newcomer  was 


THE  GIRL  CALLED  MELODY          57 

briefer,  more  in  detail,  and  the  unflattering  conclu 
sions  arrived  at  not  too  scrupulously  concealed  by 
half.  Arrogant  display  of  his  opinions  was  a 
characteristic  of  this  personage — one  Whitney  Gar- 
rity,  a  lightweight  of  parts  and  a  cosmopolitan 
scholar  by  his  own  description;  William  Garrity, 
alias  Alibi  to  the  police  by  reason  of  his  adroit 
manipulation  of  coincidence,  and  a  menace  to  the 
established  order  of  things  by  birth. 

Whitey's  eyes,  too,  touched  first  upon  the  crim 
soned  hand  and  the  supercilious  smile  of  a  profes 
sional  for  the  crude  work  of  one  less  versed  in  the 
craft  twisted  his  features.  They  flitted  from  run-over 
shoes  to  the  mildly  apologetic  face  above  dusty  blue 
serge,  and  the  smile  became  a  pitying  sneer.  Whitey 
wore  a  two-carat  stone  in  his  red  four-in-hand;  he 
sported  another,  smaller  but  not  so  yellow,  upon  a 
white  and  femininely  tapered  finger.  And  his  was 
a  self-centered  nature,  else  he  would  have  sensed  all 
that  lay  behind  the  waiter's  silence  and  noticed  as 
well  the  change  which  altered  the  face  of  his  com 
panion,  the  girl  who  sat  with  him  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table. 

There  was  nothing  complex  about  the  expression 
which  swept  her  face.  A  moment  before  she  might 
have  been  called  pretty,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
defiant  curl  of  her  lips  which  more  than  belied  a  sort 
of  childish  plea  for  kindness  in  her  eyes.  And  now 
quite  suddenly  she  was  pretty  in  spite  of  it — in  spite 


58  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

of  her  atrocity  of  a  hat  the  white  plume  of  which 
flopped  forward  as  she  nodded  with  an  impulsiveness 
both  eager  and  uncertain.  Even  Whitey  became 
aware  of  her  quickened  loveliness.  He  wheeled  in 
time  to  see  Jimmy  return  the  nod  with  what  might 
have  been  construed  as  tender  self-consciousness,  in 
any  place  but  Hanlon's. 

It  was  confusion  which  made  Jimmy's  bow 
awkward,  combined  with  a  startled,  guilty  certainty 
that  there  must  be  something  behind  so  colorful  a 
smile  which  he  should  at  least  remember.  As  it  was 
he  recognized  in  her  just  one  of  the  Palace  Theater 
girls,  known  to  the  habitue  of  the  hotel  as  Melody. 
She  had  never  offered  another  name,  and  beyond  that 
the  boy's  recollection  was  an  embarrassing  blank. 
But  Whitey's  gaze  which  followed  him  the  length  of 
the  room  waxed  vicious.  It  dwelt  upon  him  after  he 
had  dropped  into  a  chair  and  surrendered  his  hand 
to  Abel  Thompson's  ardent  ministrations. 

The  girl  called  Melody  should  have  known  better. 
Disaster  before  now  had  taught  her  the  inadvisa- 
bility  of  divided  interest  during  business  hours  and 
earned  her  the  reputation  of  a  trouble-maker.  Yet 
she,  too,  continued  to  gaze  with  warm  and  yearning 
softness  until  Whitey  could  no  longer  contain  his 
displeasure. 

"Why'n't  you  invite  him  over?"  he  growled.  "He 
looks  like  he  might  be  a  free-spendin'  gent  with  a 
bank-roll." 


THE  GIRL  CALLED  MELODY        -59 

The  remark  was  thoroughly  in  tune  with  many 
which  had  lately  caused  the  girl  to  wonder  whether 
Whitey  was  worth  the  while  even  taking  into  con 
sideration  the  yellow  stones.  In  any  walk  of  life 
self-sufficiency  is  bound  to  grow  irksome  sooner  or 
later  and  gossip  at  Hanlon's  was  beginning  to  accuse 
Mr.  Garrity  of  a  parsimony  anything  but  promising, 
his  tales  of  magnificent  improvidence  notwithstand 
ing. 

"Why,  that's  only  Jimmy  Gordon,"  she  stooped 
to  explanation  partly  because  memory  had  softened 
her  spirit  as  well  as  her  lips,  partly  because  it  was 
her  choice  to  be  amiable.  "He's  been  away  quite  a 
while.  I — I  didn't  know  he'd  got  back." 

"Ain't  been  writin'  you  regular,  then?"  Whitey's 
response  had  the  patness  of  a  litany.  "Maybe  he's 
decided  that  you  don't  figure  any  more  in  his  young 
life." 

Usually  this  betrayal  of  a  possible  jealousy  would 
have  been  turned  to  advantage  without  the  loss  of  a 
moment  or  a  syllable.  Instead  the  girl  bowed  her 
head  lower,  as  if  against  verbal  intrusion,  and  re 
mained  momentarily  silent.  When  she  did  speak  it 
was  with  dreary  gentleness  showing  in  her  voice. 

"Seems  to  me  I  hear  somebody  say  you  was  a 
wise  guy,"  she  might  have  been  musing  aloud,  "or 
maybe  I  just  overheard  you  talking  about  yourself. 
Can't  you  see  that  he  don't  belong  here — or  do  you 
need  a  woman  to  tell  it  to  you?" 


60  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

That  was  her  second  mistake,  if  it  was  conciliation 
she  desired.  This  time  Jimmy,  chancing  to  meet  the 
look  which  Whitey  flung  that  way,  stirred  a  little  and 
blinked  his  surprise.  He  would  have  believed  that 
the  insolence  in  it  was  personal,  had  he  not  been  sure 
that  the  fox-faced  person  was  a  total  stranger,  and 
logically  disinterested  in  him,  unpleasantly  or  other 
wise.  Abel  Thompson  mistook  the  start  and  the  blink 
as  indications  of  pain  and  tempered  somewhat  his 
zeal. 

"So-o-o,"  said  Whitey.  "Then  he's  a  nice  little 
boy !  Not  our  sort  at  all  ?" 

With  far  less  effort  than  that  by  which  it  had 
achieved  gentleness  the  girl's  face  hardened.  Even 
her  voice  changed  and  grew  nasal. 

"Our  sort!"  Matchless  scorn  made  Whitey's 
sarcasm  seem  amateurish.  "Our  sort?  You're  dead 
right  he  ain't.  He's  so  different  that  he  treated  me 
once  as  if  I  was  a  lady,  without  even  stopping  to 
wonder  whether  I  was  or  not."  She  paused  and 
decided  to  speak  further.  "Once  I  got  into  the  wrong 
church,  but  the  right  pew — a  church  where  there  was 
only  ladies  and  gentlemen  present,  until  I  horned  in. 
Can  you  beat  that  for  a  dippy  stunt — me  walking  into 
a  church  and  helping  myself  to  a  seat  just  as  inde 
pendent  as  if  it  was  a  lecture  or  something  where  you 
only  had  to  buy  a  ticket  to  get  by?  You're  right  you 
can't.  I  guess  it  was  the  singing  I  wanted  to  hear.  I 
never  was  strong  for  sermons,  and  I  sung  in  a  choir 


THE  GIRL  CALLED  MELODY        61 

once  myself.  So  in  I  sailed,  and  I  wasn't  wearing  a 
lid  like  the  one  I  got  on,  either,  but  I  played  in  luck 
just  the  same.  I  drew  a  place  next  to  him ;  since  then 
I've  remembered  that  there  was  plenty  of  room  in  his 
neighborhood,  so  maybe  the  usher  seen  to  that,  too. 
Anyway,  he  opened  a  hymn-book  and  let  me  hang  on 
to  one  cover  of  it,  just  when  I  was  going  down  for 
the  last  time.  We  stood  up  together  and  sung,  him 
the  tenor  and  me  the  air — sung  'Nearer  My  God  To 
Thee,'  while  the  rest  of  the  congregation  tried  to 
figure  whether  it  would  be  better  to  call  the  police  or 
wait  and  disinfect  the  building  later.  .  .  .  Laugh, 
damn  you,  laugh !  Do  you  think  I'm  tellin'  you  this 
because  I  think  you  would  understand.  Why,  I  ain't 
sure  you  would  know  what  a  church  is.  I'm  telling  it 
because  I've  never  told  it  before,  never  spoke  of  it, 
and  I  wanted  to  hear  how  funny  it  would  sound — to 
myself." 

Whitey  controlled  his  mirth  and  attempted  to 
interrupt,  but  she  cut  him  short  with  a  dangerous 
fury. 

"According  to  my  count,  you've  blown  me  to  one 
glass  of  beer  this  afternoon.  The  sandwich  don't 
enter;  it's  been  served  steady,  every  Sunday,  for  a 
month.  That's  regal,  and  a  poor  girl  ain't  got  any 
money.  He  lends  all  he  can  spare  to  them  he  knows 
can't  ever  pay  it  back.  So  now,  if  you  have  to  knock, 
go  ahead  and  knock.  I  ain't  been  particular  for  a 
long  while  about  what  I  listen  to.  But  pick  somebody 


62  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

besides  Jimmy  Gordon  or  you'll  be  doin'  a  solitary — 
or  wake  up  wondering  what  fell  on  you.  This  ain't 
'gay  Paree'  nor  'Good  old  Chi'  nor  'little  old 
N'Yawk.'  This  is  Hanlon's — and  Hanlon's  is  the 
only  place  in  Warchester  where  folks  can't  knock  that 
kid !  Lay  off  !  Do  I  make  myself  sufficiently  clear  ?" 

Apparently  she  did.  Whitey  tried  to  cover  his 
white  rage  with  a  laugh,  but  the  effort  was  a  little 
strained  and  uncomfortable.  Further,  he  kept  a 
cautious  eye  upon  the  beer  mug  which  she  was  finger 
ing  nervously. 

"Gee,  ain't  she  the  little  spitfire,"  he  sought 
facetiously  to  relieve  the  tension.  "How'd  I  know 
he  was  a  particular  friend  of  yourn?" 

"He  ain't,"  Melody  flashed  back  at  him.  "This 
minute  if  you  was  to  ask  him  quick  for  my  name  he 
couldn't  give  it  to  you.  Didn't  you  get  that  from 
the  way  he  pinked  up  when  I  bowed  to  him.  He 
ain't  my  friend.  I — I'm  a  friend  of  his."  She 
faltered  and  her  fierceness  was  gone  of  a  sudden. 
She  swallowed  with  some  difficulty  and  coughed  a 
little.  "It's  hot  in  here,"  she  finished  unsteadily. 
"Come  on.  I  gotta  get  out  in  the  air." 

And  because  she  spoke  no  more  on  that  topic 
Whitey  thought  that  the  final  shaft  of  hatred  which 
he  launched  at  the  one  she  had  championed  so  bitterly 
had  escaped  her  notice.  It  pleased  him  to  anticipate 
another  meeting  at  no  distant  date.  The  affront 
which  he  had  suffered  at  Jimmy  Gordon's  hands  was 


THE  GIRL  CALLED  MELODY         63 

nameless  but  nonetheless  unforgivable.  It  demanded 
expiation.  After  the  door  had  closed  behind  this 
new  enemy  which  he  had  acquired  unwittingly,  Jimmy 
broached  the  business  which  had  brought  him  there. 

"Hanlon  home?"  he  asked. 

The  Palace  theater  factotum  and  substitute  chef 
shook  his  head. 

"He  ain't  been  'roun'  sence  mawnin',"  he  replied. 
"We  been  havin'  mo'  or  less  trouble  eveh  sence 
you  left,  and  las'  Wednesday  it  done  reached  a  crisis. 
'Twant  much — jes'  a  little  argymint  ovah  too  many 
aces  in  a  poker  deck — on'y  some  folks  is  nachelly 
got  to  go  out  an'  talk."  He  rolled  his  eyes  scorn 
fully  at  the  door  through  which  Whitey  had  just 
made  his  exit.  "Repo'tah  got  hole  of  it  and  make  a 
big  story  outen  it — two  men  dying  and  another 
cripple'  foh  life,  when  it  ain't  nuthin'  mo'  than  a 
couple  haids  busted  fum  gettin'  in  the  way  of  a  table 
laig.  But  'lection's  comin'  on  again,  an'  folks  up  on 
the  hill  is  talkin'  refohm  again,  so  Pegleg,  he  out 
rangin'  things  up  an'  pacifyin'  the  proletariat.  Some 
folks  want  to  watch  out  who  they  tell  what  about. 
Goin'  git  into  trouble  'f  they  don'." 

The  allusion  was  scarcely  veiled,  but  Jimmy 
ignored  it.  He  reached  into  a  pocket  and  brought 
out  a  roll  of  bills,  small  of  denomination,  and  limp 
and  very  dirty. 

"Give  this  to  Hanlon  when  he  gets  back,  will 
you?"  he  requested.  "I  guess  I'm  too  tired  to  wait, 


64  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

and  he's  likely  to  be  late,  anyway.  Just  tell  him  I  ran 
into  Dempsey  last  week.  Tell  him  Dempsey  thanks 
him  for  the  loan.  He  caught  a  fruiter  for  Brazil." 

The  negro  tucked  the  bills  into  a  pocket  of  his 
vivid  waistcoat  without  examination  or  comment 
concerning  the  one  from  whom  they  had  come.  It 
was  ancient  history  that  Dempsey  had  left  town  a 
little  hastily,  not  so  many  weeks  before,  because  he 
had  been  so  long  law-abiding  that  the  police,  in 
exasperation,  had  finally  arranged  a  misdemeanor 
for  him.  Abel  gave  more  attention  to  the  boy's 
statement  that  he  was  tired.  It  was  seldom  that 
Jimmy  Gordon  spoke  concerning  himself.  He  tied  a 
last  knot  in  a  none  too  white  handkerchief  and  patted 
the  improvised  bandage. 

"Dar  now,"  he  said.  "Dar!  She's  all  clean  and 
'spectable.  You — you  lookin'  mighty  bluish  'roun' 
yo'  mouf.  Shall  I  get  you  sumpin'  to  drink?" 

"I  guess  I'd  better  be  getting  along  home,"  he 
said. 

The  gentleman  of  color  remained  seated  after  the 
door  had  opened  and  closed  once  more.  He  wrestled 
for  a  while  with  a  knotty  problem  and  finally  had  to 
give  it  up. 

"That's  a  funny  boy,"  he  audibly  admitted  defeat. 
"Never  disclose  to  nobody  what  he'  thinkin'  at  all. 
"F  I  din'  know  where  he  was  goin'  I'd  say  he  was 
glad  to  go." 


CHAPTER  V 

COME  YE  WHO  ARE  WEARY 

TWO  phrases,  eloquent  of  an  old-fashioned 
decade,  had  survived  Warchester's  growth 
to  cityhood;  and  while  one  of  them  had  lost, 
more  or  less,  its  geographical  exactitude,  the  other, 
from  year  to  year,  continued  to  increase  in  social 
significance.  "Down  town,"  at  its  elastic  best,  could 
no  longer  be  said  to  embrace  the  city's  vast  and  soot- 
soiled  area  of  industry  quite  as  faithfully  as  it  had 
once  covered  a  compact  block  or  two  of  marts 
devoted  to  barter  and  trade.  But  "up  on  the  hill'* 
was  still  the  "exclusive"  residential  section  of  the 
community,  though  the  town's  growth,  commented 
upon  in  public  as  phenomenal,  had  not  respected 
wholly  even  this  abode  of  the  "best  people." 

In  private  this  insidious  encroachment  was 
deplored,  principally  by  those  families  whose  white 
and  green  colonial  homes  dated  back  to  that  earlier 
era — but  only  in  private.  For  the  male  heads  of 
those  same  families,  retired  from  actual  participa 
tion,  since  the  inroad  of  competitive  commercalism, 
were  growing  more  and  more  disposed  to  accept, 
ready-made,  the  doctrines  of  their  more  active 

65 


66  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

neighbors,  as  unreservedly  as  they  intrusted  to  them 
their  dividend-paying  investments. 

If  T.  Elihu  Banks,  President  of  the  Commonwealth 
Trust,  openly  exulted  in  expansion  and  blessed  it  in 
the  name  of  prosperity,  it  would  have  argued  a 
deplorable  lack  of  ordinary  common  sense  not  to 
have  shared  his  enthusiasms  and  very  positive 
prejudices  as  well. 

Ever  since  he  could  remember  Jimmy  Gordon's 
step  had  always  begun  to  lag  whenever  he  turned 
into  Maple  Street  and  faced  the  incline  which  led  into 
this  quarter  of  short  lawns  and  shade  trees  and 
discreet  silences,  not  so  much  from  a  reluctance  to  be 
identified  with  its  dignified  traditions  as  because  it 
had  long  been  plain  that  he  was  a  dweller  there 
largely  through  sufferance.  It  was  this  realization 
which  lay  behind  the  perpetual  question  in  his  eyes, 
and  his  air  of  mild  apology.  Whenever  it  was 
feasible  he  took  a  different  way  home,  one  more 
circuitous  but  less  in  the  nature  of  a  trespass. 

And  yet,  that  afternoon,  his  step  quickened,  once 
he  had  left  behind  him  the  last  of  the  shops  which 
had  insinuated  themselves  around  the  corner  from 
Main  Street.  He  walked  with  his  lean  face  thrust 
forward,  the  difficulties  of  this  more  direct  route 
temporarily  forgotten.  For  several  years  he  had 
been  living,  in  spirit,  a  totally  different  reappearance 
in  this  charmed  section.  Three  months  before,  when 
he  had  left  Warchester  with  a  laboriously  typed 


COME  YE  WHO  ARE  WEARY          67 

manuscript  buttoned  inside  his  coat,  he  had  pictured 
himself  returning  costumed  after  a  fashion  not  quite 
as  compelling  as  his  cousin  Sidney's,  yet  nevertheless 
no  longer  calculated  to  offend  a  fastidious  neighbor 
hood. 

This  triumph  of  letters  had  suffered  a  serious 
setback,  but  there  was  no  bitterness  in  the  boy's  heart 
because  it  had  proved  a  false  hope.  He  had 
experienced  too  many  disappointments  of  one  sort 
or  another,  not  to  have  acquired  a  certain  dogged 
philosophy. 

So  he  hurried  and  took  little  note  of  the  stir  which 
kept  pace  with  him  on  both  sides  of  the  street.  Once 
he  looked  at  his  watch,  a  cheap  affair  not  to  be 
trusted  in  an  emergency,  and  forgot  to  regret  the 
dust  upon  his  clothing.  Custom  was  still  a  fixed  and 
dependable  matter  in  Warchester.  At  that  moment, 
if  the  watch  was  correct,  he  knew  that  Evelyn 
Latham  was  holding  court  upon  the  Latham  front 
veranda,  surrounded  by  feminine  and  masculine 
members  of  what  was  religiously  referred  to,  of  late, 
in  the  Gazette  society  column,  as  the  city's  younger 
set. 

Jimmy  was  not  a  member  of  this  circle;  with  the 
literary  triumph  in  mind,  now  indefinitely  postponed 
but  far  from  abandoned,  he  had  never  gone  so  far 
as  to  dwell  upon  a  day  when  it  should  open  to  receive 
him.  Yet  he,  too,  had  been  paying  homage  for  a 
long  time,  content  to  worship,  even  from  afar, 


68  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

strangely  untroubled  by  jealousy  for  those  who  were 
luckier  and  could  sit  at  her  very  feet. 

If  it  is  true  that  distance  lends  enchantment,  there 
was  ground  enough  for  his  devotion.  He  had  never 
spoken  a  word  to  her  in  his  life.  But  he  had  bared 
his  head  to  her  twice  as  she  drove  past  in  her  electric 
and  nodded  to  him — nodded  unmistakably.  And 
both  occasions,  double  assurance  that  she  was  aware 
of  his  existence,  had  left  him  for  a  time  in  such  a 
state  that  he  was  incapable  of  wondering  whether 
recognition  was  due  to  the  character  of  his 
reputation,  or  in  spite  of  it. 

In  front  of  St.  Luke's  church,  one  block  south  of 
the  Latham  home,  he  stopped  for  the  first  time  since 
he  had  left  Hanlon's  alley  behind  him,  though  his 
quickened  breath  was  not  the  result  of  the  rapid 
ascent.  He  wanted  to  enjoy  anticipation  to  the  full, 
and  instead  the  undesirable  luster  of  portions  of  his 
raiment  promptly  intruded  itself.  Gravely  then  he 
pondered  the  advisability  of  crossing  the  street,  a 
move  which  would  carry  him  past  the  doors  of  T. 
Elihu's  great  brick  pile  of  a  house  and  necessitate  a 
direct  recrossing,  or  of  continuing  straight  ahead; 
shaking  his  head  a  little  over  the  lack  of  luster  upon 
his  shoes,  he  decided  for  the  latter  course. 

The  next  instant  he  had  started  on  again,  and 
come  again  to  a  standstill.  At  first  the  gay  dresses 
of  the  girls  in  the  chairs  on  the  veranda  were  only 
blurred  patches  of  color  in  his  eyes,  the  gallantry 


COME  YE  WHO  ARE  WEARY          69 

upon  the  steps  mere  lumps  of  indeterminate  gray. 
He  blinked,  but  the  blur  was  stubborn,  until  a  frag 
ment  of  laughter  penetrated  the  roaring  in  his  ears 
— laughter  low  and  modulated  and  unmistakable. 
And  then  he  saw  clearly  her  face. 

She  was  leaning  forward,  taunting  Lloyd  Jameson, 
Judge  Jameson's  son,  leading  him  with  amiable 
malice  from  clumsy  flattery  to  clumsier  amplification. 
Even  without  the  name  of  Latham  she  would  have 
been  hailed  as  a  beauty.  Strangers  seeing  her  for 
the  first  time  rarely  failed  to  marvel  at  the  vivid 
crimson  of  her  mouth,  against  the  smooth  olive  of 
her  skin,  before  they  asked  who  she  was.  The  boy 
in  front  of  the  church  was  watching  the  glint  of 
light  upon  her  black  hair,  so  arranged  that  it  curled 
down  and  nestled  tight  against  small  ears,  when  a 
clock  nearby  struck  the  half-hour  and  all  the  rest 
happened — the  self-same  scene  which  had  occupied 
his  mind,  hours  before,  while  he  "rode  the  blind," 
the  grind  of  the  wheels  an  inferno  in  his  ears,  a 
storm  of  cinders  biting  his  face. 

A  maid  in  crisp  black  and  white  came  to  the  door 
and  Evelyn  Latham  straightened  and  turned,  her 
brows  inquiringly  lifted.  The  maid  asked  a  question, 
and  in  reply  she  signed  her  pleasure  with  a  bow 
ineffably  brief  and  cool.  And  immediately  thereafter 
a  wicker  service  table  made  its  appearance,  laden 
with  sandwiches  and  tiny  cubes  of  cake  with  vari 
colored  icings.  The  confusion  incident  to  a  closer 


70  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

grouping;  the  treble  of  feminine  chatter;  Lloyd 
Jameson's  dangerous  alacrtiy  to  serve  a  sex  helpless 
at  a  certain  age — every  detail  was  poignantly  famil 
iar  to  the  motionless  figure  who  stood  looking  on. 

Countless  Sunday  afternoons,  in  his  room  in  the 
Reverend  Watson  Duncan's  white  cottage  which 
overlooked  the  Latham  grounds,  Jimmy  Gordon  had 
watched,  proudly,  the  gracious  informality  of  the 
hostess.  Behind  half-closed  shutters  he  had  ached 
with  a  hunger  which  pink  frosted  cakes  never  could 
have  appeased,  until,  by  the  merciful  grace  of  his 
own  vivid  imagination,  he  was  enabled  to  rise  and 
leave  his  physical  self  sitting  there,  while  he 
sauntered  across  the  lawn  and,  after  a  gay  and 
inconsequential  word  or  two  of  greeting,  catching  the 
slight  yet  beckoning  motion  of  her  hand,  went  to 
take  the  place  she  had  saved  for  him — a  place  next 
her  own. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  just  how  long  he  might 
have  stood  there  on  the  sidewalk  before  St.  Luke's, 
a  shabby  figure  slightly  stooped  by  fatigue,  staring 
¥rom  perplexed  and  wistful  eyes,  before  he  recol 
lected  his  position,  or  the  sexton  came  out  and 
performed  that  service  for  him.  It  is  a  mootless 
point  as  well,  for  just  as  he  was  about  to  play  his 
part — the  bodiless  one  in  which  he  had  grown  letter- 
perfect — another  actor,  less  hesitant  and  better 
costumed,  simultaneously  broke  the  spell,  and  carried 
it  through  for  him,  in  the  flesh. 


COME  YE  WHO  ARE  WEARY          71 

Jimmy  looked  up  to  see  Sidney  come  out  of  the 
red  brick  house,  accompanied  by  his  mother.  She 
followed  him  to  the  top  of  the  steps,  where  she 
stood,  one  hand  lying  upon  his  shoulder  as  if  she 
was  reluctant  to  let  him  go  so  soon.  And  Jimmy 
continued  to  look,  his  wistfulness  gone,  as  Sidney 
ran  down  the  steps  and  started  across  the  street. 
Just  before  his  cousin  reached  the  Latham  veranda, 
before  the  throng  had  fairly  opened  to  envelop  him, 
without  stopping  to  reason  why,  the  boy  wheeled 
abruptly  away. 

But  their  voices  reached  him ;  he  was  so  close  that 
that  was  inevitable.  And  he  knew  that  Evelyn 
Latham  was  smiling  her  calm,  cool  smile  and  stretch 
ing  out  a  slim  hand  in  greeting.  Evidently  the  gossip 
which  Abel  Thompson  had  chucklingly  offered  as  the 
true  cause  of  Sidney's  sudden  return  to  Warchester 
had  not  spread  as  far  as  "up  on  the  hill,"  or  if  it 
had,  inexplicably  it  made  little  difference.  Jimmy 
Gordon  turned  his  back;  he  did  not  want  to  see. 
Real  bitterness  was  his  at  that  moment. 

The  chance  which  kept  him  from  retracing  his 
steps,  to  come  at  the  white  cottage  by  the  longer,  less 
brazen  route,  was  trivial  in  the  extreme.  A  black 
signboard  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  church  lawn, 
shaped  like  a  conventional  shield  and  lettered  in  gold. 
"Church  of  St.  Luke — The  Reverend  Watson 
Duncan,  Rector,"  the  inscription  read;  "Services  at 
10.30  A.  M.  and  8  P.  M."  And  underneath,  in  letters 


72  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

not  so  large :  "Come  Ye  Who  Are  Weary  and  Heavy 
Laden,  and  I  Will  Give  You  Rest." 

Jimmy  found  himself  staring  at  that  board,  and 
reading  mechanically;  and  as  he  read,  somehow  he 
managed  his  slightly  crooked  smile  again.  His  step 
had  lost  its  briskness  when  he  started  on,  but  he  did 
not  cross  the  street  to  avoid  passing  the  Latham 
veranda.  And  if  his  face  was  made  hot  by  a  girl's 
overloud  question,  it  whitened  the  next  instant  as 
he  overheard  his  cousin's  reply.  He  had  forgotten 
to  carry  his  bandaged  hand  out  of  sight;  going  up 
the  front  steps  of  the  cottage  he  stumbled  blindly 
and  barely  kept  from  falling.  When  he  recovered 
himself  and  reached  for  the  door-knob  he  found 
the  door  already  open  before  him.  His  mother 
stood  upon  the  threshold  waiting  for  him. 

She  was  one  of  those  heavy  people  whose  languid 
air  is  less  an  indication  of  actual  invalidism  than  a 
combination  of  pathetic  resignation  (assumed)  to 
the  will  of  the  Lord,  and  a  constant  readiness  to 
combat  every  argument  which  might  challenge  her 
fragility.  Jimmy  Gordon  blinked  at  the  suddenness 
of  the  encounter  and  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two. 
Until  that  moment  the  boy  had  given  no  thought  to 
this  particular  phase  of  his  home-coming;  he  had 
neglected  even  to  rehearse  a  politic  and  off-hand 
sentence  or  two,  with  which  to  break  the  news  of 
his  return,  and  for  a  breath  he  stood  nonplussed. 
Then  his  manner  became  as  professionally  brisk  and 


COME  YE  WHO  ARE  WEARY          73 

reassuringly  jaunty  as  that  of  the  nerve-specialist 
who  was  in  weekly  attendance. 

"Hello,  mother,"  he  said.  "A  bad  penny!  Here 
I  am  back  home,  you  see." 

It  was  often  remarked  how  much  Mrs.  Watson 
Duncan,  nee  Mathilda  Banks,  looked  like  her 
brother,  T.  Elihu,  a  bit  of  flattery  that  never  missed 
fire.  Now,  as  she  moved  doubtfully  to  one  side  and 
made  room  for  Jimmy  to  enter,  the  resemblance  was 
actual  and  astonishing.  Her  voice  had  been  trained 
to  its  tired,  colorless  monotone. 

"I  see."  She  ignored  her  son's  obvious  witticism, 
and  swept  his  dusty  length  with  a  single  glance.  "I 
saw  you  coming.  Step  inside — before  the  whole 
neighborhood  gets  sight  of  you." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE 

JIMMY'S  room,   that  one  which  luckily  over 
looked   the   Latham   grounds    and   the   broad 
veranda,     had    not    been    opened    since    his 
departure.     Of  this  an  acrid  odor  of  dust  in  the 
wave  of  hot  and  stagnant  air  which  met  him  as  he 
swung  open  the  door  was  proof  in  itself;  and  an 
additional  feathery  accumulation  upon  the  furniture 
gave  it  the  desolate  atmosphere  of  an  apartment 
long  closed  against  the  expectation  of  occupancy. 

Nothing  had  been  changed  or  moved,  and  yet  the 
boy  hesitated  upon  the  threshold,  pondering  a  sense 
of  strangeness  which  even  his  typewriter  upon  a 
plain  board  table,  failed  to  lessen.  And  this  ancient 
and  decrepid  machine  was  indeed  an  old,  old  friend. 
Acquired  by  the  painfully  exacting  dollar-down  and 
dollar-every-so-often  route,  its  very  failings  had 
warmed  him  to  it  from  the  beginning;  and  once  he 
had  learned  to  humor  its  large  disregard  for 
accuracy  in  the  matters  of  spacing  and  alignment, 
he  had  ventured  to  take  it,  little  by  little,  into  his 
confidence,  until  in  the  end  it  had  become  vested 
with  a  kindred  personality  which  not  only  under- 

74 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE    75 

stood  but  sympathized  as  well  with  his  rather  widely 
misunderstood  aims  and  views. 

It  was  his  custom  to  bestow  upon  the  keys  an 
intimate  pat  or  two,  whenever  he  entered  his  room 
or  left  it — a  sort  of  ritualistic  salute — but  now,  after 
one  glance,  he  avoided  it  studiously,  just  as  he 
refused  to  meet  squarely  the  dazed,  bruised  look  in 
his  own  eyes,  when  he  turned  instead  to  the  mirror 
of  a  scaly  "dresser"  and  gave  himself  over  to  minute 
self-consideration. 

For  a  time,  from  the  dubious  droop  of  his  mouth, 
it  might  have  been  thought  that  he  was  finding 
something  of  amusement  in  the  latter  process.  Then 
the  expression  underwent  a  change,  for  though  the 
glass  revealed  only  a  portion  of  his  person,  this 
fractional  revelation,  finally  accepted  as  a  true 
reflection  of  his  entire  length,  was  sufficient  cause 
for  alarm.  He  shook  his  head,  a  bit  ruefully,  a  little 
with  regret,  over  the  drepressing  state  of  his  one  suit 
of  clothes,  but  after  he  had  removed  the  coat, 
brushed  it  mechanically  with  his  hand  and  hung  it 
over  a  chair-back  with  habitual  care,  abruptly  all 
idea  of  an  immediate  cleansing  of  himself  and  his 
habiliments  was  abandoned.  He  wheeled,  gropingly 
found  the  bed  and  stretched  his  thin  length  flat 
upon  it. 

Persistently,  for  a  while,  he  kept  his  eyes  closed; 
he  feigned  sleep,  thinking  to  trick  himself  into 
slumber.  But  his  muscles  twitched  from  exhaustion ; 


76  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

excessive  weariness  kept  him  awake;  and  his  brain, 
refusing  to  rest,  raced  like  an  engine  released  of  its 
load.  Unmindful  of  the  heat  at  first,  he  blamed  his 
wakefulness  at  length  upon  the  closeness  of  the 
room.  He  rose  and  opened  a  window,  only  to  find 
sleep  as  much  an  impossibility  as  before,  though  a 
tingling  sensation,  not  unpleasant,  crept  over  his 
body,  while  he  drifted  into  a  state  of  semiconscious- 
ness  filled  with  the  roar  of  wheels. 

And  out  of  that  roaring,  as  if  from  a  great 
distance,  there  came  to  him  a  peal  of  laughter,  low 
and  cool  and  deliberately  mocking.  He  lay  with  a 
smile  hovering  upon  his  lips,  still  hearing  it  after  it 
had  ceased,  counting  it  only  a  dream-echo,  until  a 
continuous  murmur,  becoming  distinct  and  real  of  a 
sudden,  startled  him  half-upright.  Waking  at  the 
ends  of  the  earth  Jimmy  Gordon  would  have 
recognized  that  voice ;  without  a  thought  of  playing 
the  eavesdropper,  his  chin  propped  upon  one  elbow, 
breathlessly  he  strained  to  listen. 

"But,  my  dear  boy,"  he  heard  Evelyn  Latham 
protest,  with  the  slightest  suggestion  of  that  blase 
drawl  which  was  alike  the  envy  and  despair  of 
initiative  girl  friends — amy  dear  boy!  You  are  too 
absurd  even  to  suggest  such  a  thing,  now.  I  don't 
believe  anything,  or  anybody,  could  persuade  Lloyd 
to  give  up  the  part." 

A  landscape  gardener  had  located  a  rustic  bench 
in  the  shade  of  a  stubby  tree  beyond  Jimmy's  window. 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE    77 

Here,  now  and  again,  the  daughter  of  the  house 
came  to  sit  for  a  while,  prettily  busied  with  a  pink- 
padded  sewing-basket  filled  with  a  tangle  of  silks. 
Such  hours  the  boy  treasured,  because  he  had  been 
forced  to  share  them  with  no  one;  but  they  were 
week-day  occurrences  without  exception.  From 
behind  his  closed  shutters  he  had  noted  that  the 
Sunday  group  upon  the  Latham  veranda  always 
showed  an  uneasy  propensity  to  disintegrate  into 
sets  of  two,  once  the  wicker  service-table  was 
ravished. 

He  heard  his  cousin  Sidney  snort. 

"Who  in  the  world  ever  picked  him  for  a  leading 
man?"  Sidney's  request  for  information,  while 
couched  in  the  form  of  a  question,  aimed  at  the 
rhetorical,  expressing  as  it  did  a  supreme  and 
sweeping  contempt  for  the  ability  of  Mr.  Jameson, 
the  gentleman  under  discussion.  "Where  did  he 
ever  get  the  idea  he  could  act!" 

Adroitly  she  skirted  the  edge  of  argument. 

"Of  course  his  bearing  is  hardly  impressive  or 
commanding."  Jimmy  heard  Sidney  hoot,  but  the 
rich  voice,  grown  musing  and  judicial,  refused  to  be 
disconcerted  by  this  derisive  interruption.  "But — 
but  as  far  as  his  acting  goes — "  Again  she  laughed, 
this  time  with  sweet  amusement — "Well,  there  is  a 
scene  or  two  in  which  I  have  been  forced  to  ask  him 
to  restrain  his  passion  for  realism,  at  least  in 
rehearsal.  He  takes  it  all  very  seriously." 


7 8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

In  spite  of  a  quick  tightening  of  his  throat  Jimmy 
wished  that  he  could  see  Sidney's  face.  The  latter 
seemed  to  have  no  answer  ready,  but  he  was  not 
allowed  to  remain  long  sulky  or  rebellious. 

"If  only  you  weren't  so  unreasonably  stubborn,  I 
know  you  could  do  more  with  him."  Evelyn's  voice 
Indicated  that  she  was  leaning  forward  in  one  of  her 
rare  attitudes  of  appeal.  "And  then,  there  are  so 
many  other  details  in  which  you  could  set  us  right. 
We  haven't  anyone  here  in  Warchester  competent 
to  coach  us — that  is,  anybody  upon  whom  we'd  care 
to  call — because  we  do  want  the  performance  to 
make  its  strongest  appeal  to  a  cultured  audience. 
And  everybody  knows  how  familiar  you  are  with  the 
metropolitan  stage." 

Jimmy  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  a  grin,  but 
Sidney's  reply  promptly  straightened  his  lips.  It 
became  evident  that  he  had  put  the  wrong  construc 
tion  upon  that  last  sentence,  for  Sidney's  tone 
straightway  grew  mollified  and  thoroughly  compla 
cent. 

"Of  course  I  have  had  the  opportunity  to  see  how 
some  of  the  big  fellows  do  it,"  he  admitted.  "And, 
besides,  it  would  be  too  late  for  me  to — to  get  up 
in  the  part.  But  I  warn  you  that  we  are  a  tyrannical 
lot.  We  have  to  see  that  the  identity  of  the  individual 
is  completely  submerged  in  the  character  to  be — er 
— portrayed." 

This   may   have    been    offered   as    an    objection, 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE    79 

perhaps  insurmountable,  but  it  had  a  very  different 
effect  upon  Evelyn. 

"There!"  said  she.  "That's  exactly  what  I've 
tried  to  impress  upon  Lloyd !  It's  nothing  less  than 
providential  that  you've  had  to  come  home  for  a 
rest,  though  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  half  as  sympathetic 
as  I  should  be,  now  that  you've  promised  to  take  us 
in  hand.  You'll  find  us  terribly  amateurish — t  e  r  r  i  - 
bly  stiff.  But  you  won't  be  too  harsh  with  us  at  first, 
will  you — too  critical?  I'm  afraid  I  leave  much  to 
be  desired  myself,  in  my  own  role." 

Jimmy  did  not  need  to  see  the  look  with  which 
Sidney  dismissed  both  entreaty  and  confession,  in 
order  to  know  what  it  was  like.  A  certain  softness 
in  his  answer  painted  it  perfectly. 

"You  know  I  won't.  The  part  for  which  you 
are  cast  is  a  little  bit  hazy  in  my  mind  just  now — you 
mustn't  let  me  forget  to  take  a  copy  of  the  script 
home  with  me,  so  that  I  can  brush  up  on  it  before 
to-morrow — but  if  I  remember  its  essential  charac 
teristics  correctly,  it  seems  to  me  you  are  quite  the 
type  for  it — quite  the  type !  Beyond  that  it  is  entirely 
a  matter  of  confidence — merely  a  question  of  true 
conception  and  interpretation." 

"O  dear !  How  dismayingly  technical !  But  I  am 
glad  you're  here,  just  the  same."  And  her  simulance 
of  dismay  promptly  gave  way  to  a  silence  so  pro 
longed  that  the  boy  whose  elbow  was  fast  growing 
numb  thought  that  they  must  have  risen  and  moved 


8o  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

away.  But  she  had  merely  paused  to  dwell  upon 
another  perplexity,  for  which  she  presently  found 
words. 

"There  is  another  thing  about  which  I  have  been 
uncertain,"  the  cool  voice  said,  absently.  "I've  been 
wondering — but  I  know  you  can  advise  me  what  to 
do.  Don't  you  think  that  we  should  ask  your  cousin 
•. — Mr.  Gordon,  isn't  it? — to  help  us,  too?" 

Jimmy's  face  went  white  as  the  pillow  behind  it. 
The  incredible  suggestion  hit  him  like  a  blow  in  the 
dark.  Blinking  he  swung  himself  erect  until  his  feet 
touched  the  floor,  brushing  his  eyes  with  the  back  of 
one  hand,  his  odd,  singularly  bewildered  gesture,  to 
make  sure  that  he  was  awake. 

The  first  choking  exclamation  with  which  Sidney 
greeted  the  preposterous  proposition  was  inaudible. 
Jimmy  heard  his  second  breathless  "What !"  And  he 
marvelled  then  at  the  girl's  naive  composure  before 
a  monosyllable  so  explosively  eloquent. 

"Then  you  don't  think  it  necessary.  I  wasn't  quite 
sure.  It's  a  church  charity,  you  know — and  out  of 
deference  to  Mr.  Duncan " 

The  explanation  was  left  unfinished.  Most  un- 
gallantly  Sidney's  loud  laughter  cut  it  short. 

"Necessary !  You  haven't  spoken  to  the  Reverend 
Watson  about  it,  have  you?"  he  asked. 

Miss  Latham's  reply  was  brief  and  chill.  Sidney 
tried  hard  to  master  his  mirth. 

"Then  don't,  my  dear,"  he  chuckled.     "Take  the 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE    81 

advice  of  a  member  of  the  family  and  don't!" 

"But  he  must  be  more  or  less  familiar  with  the 
theater,"  the  girl  argued.  "I — no  one  ever  seems 
to  mention  the  Palace  Theater,  without  bringing  his 
name  up,  in  connection  with  it." 

Suddenly  the  boy  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  no  longer 
strained  to  hear.  His  tensed  body  slackened  per 
ceptibly,  and  he  had  started  for  the  window  when 
Sidney's  voice  rose  again,  strong  and  stern,  beneath 
It. 

"The  kind  of  knowledge  he  has  of  the  theater 
shouldn't  be  mentioned  in  your  presence,  nor  the 
Palace  Theater  bunch  from  which  he  acquired  it. 
It  was  very  fine  of  you  to  think  of  asking  him.  I 
understand  thoroughly  why  you  spoke  of  it,  and  I 
like  to  think  you  are  like  that — fine  and  gracious  and 
kind.  But  in  his  case  it's  out  of  the  question 
absolutely.  I  wouldn't  permit  it,  even  if  the  Rev 
erend  Watson  did.  And  if  the  Governor  found  his 
name  upon  the  program  he'd  ruin  your  perfectly 
good  charity,  right  on  the  spot." 

She  accepted  the  ultimatum  with  pretty  humility. 

"Oh!"  Her  words  were  faintly  shocked.  "Oh! 
I  didn't  know — I  only  thought  .  .  .  Then  he  really 
is  as  wicked  as  people  say  he  is?" 

But  Sidney  scented  a  loss  of  that  glamour  with 
which,  by  vague  allusion  and  vaguer  protests  of 
innocence,  he  had  painstakingly  surrounded  himself, 


82  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

in  the  last  half  hour  or  so.  His  manner  turned 
patronizing. 

"There  is  a  difference  between  sheer  vulgarity," 
he  said  profoundly,  "and  what  you  call — er — wick 
edness."  He  paused  to  sigh,  self-deprecatingly.  "I 
suppose  I  should  be  the  last  to  cast  a  stone.  Loneli 
ness  can  drive  a  man  to  a  lot  of  fool  things,  simply 
for  the  sake  of  diversion — things  which  he  usually 
regrets  afterward.  And  then,  one  has  to  keep  up 
the  pace  in  New  York,  you  know,  or  drop  out  of  the 
procession  entirely.  Poor  old  cousin  Jimmy !  He  has 
stirred  up  a  lot  of  unfavorable  publicity,  hasn't  he? 
But,  strictly  entre  nous,  I  think  it's  all  a  beautiful 
joke.  Jimmy's  inclinations  doubtless  are  vicious,  but 
he's  too  shiftless  and  lazy  to  be  out-and-out  bad. 
Usually,  whenever  I  see  him,  which  isn't  often  of 
course,  he  looks  as  if  he  was  walking  in  his  sleep." 

Jimmy's  face  went  from  pale  to  scarlet.  His 
eyelids  stopped  blinking  and  remained  momentarily 
closed.  And  when  they  moved  again  and  lifted,  a 
stir  upon  the  veranda  of  the  red  brick  house  across 
the  street  arrested  his  hand  upon  the  window  sash. 
His  step-father  made  his  appearance  at  that  instant, 
followed  closely  by  T.  Elihu  Banks  himself.  And 
both  men  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  head  of  the 
steps,  pursuing  a  discussion  in  which,  plainly,  the 
smaller  man  had  been  playing  the  part  of  a  deeply 
impressed  and  accordant  listener. 

T.  Elihu  seemed  to  be  summing  up,  and  expending 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE     83 

considerable  emphasis  in  so  doing,  that  there  might 
be  no  excuse  for  later  misconstruction  or  laxity.  And 
the  reverend  gentleman  looked  a  little  pale.  But 
when  he  ran  down  the  steps  and  crossed  the  road  with 
his  customary  briskness,  a  modish  and  dapper  figure 
of  which  his  parish  had  reason  to  be  proud,  there 
was  nothing  in  his  bearing  to  betray  his  inner  turmoil. 

Catching  sight  of  the  two  young  people  on  the 
rustic  bench,  he  lifted  a  haughtily  admonitory  fore 
finger  and  shook  it,  all  in  his  best  ecclesiastical  air. 
More  than  anything  else  he  suggested  a  benevolent 
old  rabbit,  scuttling  along  home;  but  once  he  had 
left  the  stubby  shade  tree  and  the  pair  upon  the  bench 
behind  him,  his  expression  underwent  an  alteration 
violent  indeed.  The  Reverend  Watson  Duncan's 
face  became  shockingly  congested  with  rage. 

Jimmy  forgot  to  close  the  window.  Presentient 
and  pessimistic  he  crossed  and  opened  the  door  of 
his  room  a  crack.  He  heard  the  front  door  slam, 
and  his  step-father's  pelting  step  and  wheezing 
breath.  Then  there  rose  from  the  floor  below  an 
echo  of  T.  Elihu's  vehement  discourse. 

"I  tell  you,  Madame,  that  this  is  the  end!" 
Swayed  as  he  was  by  the  storm  of  fury  which  broke 
without  one  prefacing  mutter,  the  Reverend  Watson 
Duncan  managed  to  preserve  his  perfectly  rounded 
enunciation  out  of  the  wreckage  of  his  self-control. 
"I  have  endured  his  sullen  obstinacy,  his  vagabon 
dage,  his  love  of  loose  associates,  with  all  the 


84  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Christian  fortitude  of  which  I  am  capable,  because 
he  is  your  son.  But  there  is  a  limit  at  which  even 
my  forbearance  must  cease,  and  that  limit  has  been 
reached  to-day  1" 

A  sofa  creaked  in  the  darkened  front  room  down 
stairs.  Mrs.  Duncan  was  rising,  with  an  indetermin 
ate  sound  which  might  have  been  either  a  syllable 
of  resignation  or  a  word  of  self-pitying  inquiry.  The 
dapper  little  man,  however,  gave  it  slight  heed.  He 
had  stopped  for  breath. 

"Not  content  with  instigating  a  dog-fight  within 
one  hour  after  his  return,  for  the  bestial  amusement 
of  himself  and  a  gutter  negro — not  content  with  such 
Sabbath  desecration!  —  he  openly,  flagrantly, 
defiantly  turned  his  back  upon  me  and  the  two 
gentlemen  with  whom  I  was  at  that  moment 
discussing  a  campaign  against  this  city's  depravity, 
to  swagger  into  the  worst  sink  of  iniquity  in  town. 
Openly,  Madame,  flagrantly!  Do  you  hear  me? 
In  broad  daylight!" 

Again  there  arose  the  sigh,  less  indeterminate  this 
time  and  sibilant,  and  flutteringly  like  a  moan.  Again 
Mr.  Duncan  ignored  it. 

''And  so  I  warn  you,"  he  swept  on,  with  an  access 
of  passion,  "that  my  charity  is  exhausted.  This  is 
to  be  a  righteous  city.  When  men  whose  entire  lives 
have  been  devoted  to  commerce  are  made  to  pause 
aghast  at  the  boldness  of  immorality  and  crime,  it 
means  a  social  protest — an  administrative  upheaval 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE     85 

— which  will  lay  bare  every  rotten  spot  to  the  sun. 
I  have  pleaded  and  I  have  prayed,  for  even  an 
eleventh  hour  regeneration.  Now  it  is  too  late.  I 
have  pledged  myself  to  a  righteous  cause,  and  once 
I  set  my  shoulder  to  the  wheel  I  neither  waken  nor 
falter.  My  civic  housecleaning  shall  begin  at 
home!" 

The  crash  of  a  shade  flying  up  on  a  roller 
punctuated  this  climax.  Delayed  momentarily  by  the 
very  volume  of  her  husband's  tirade,  Mrs.  Duncan's 
usual  hysteria  was  overdue,  when  Jimmy  stepped  into 
the  room.  The  reverend  gentleman's  faculties  were 
so  disordered  that  he  had  no  immediate  perception 
of  his  step-son's  presence,  but  some  sound  of  his 
coming  had  reached  his  mother,  for  she  wheeled  and 
showed  a  panic  face  as  he  laid  a  hand  upon  her  arm. 
And  out  of  tumult  there  came  a  silence,  dreadful 
and  dismayed  upon  the  part  of  Mrs.  Duncan. 

The  boy  wet  his  lips  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
and  smiled,  mildly. 

"You'd  better  go  to  your  room,  mother,"  he  said, 
"before  your  headache  grows  worse." 

For  the  infinitesimal  part  of  a  second  she  was 
incapable  of  motion.  Then  she  turned  and  left  the 
the  room,  too  astounded  by  a  note  of  compassion  in 
her  son's  voice  and  a  kind  of  apologetic  authority 
in  his  manner  to  wonder  at  the  strangeness  of  her 
obedience.  Jimmy  followed  her  across  the  threshold. 
And  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan  was  left  standing 


j86  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

alone,  with  his  mouth  inelegantly  open.  He  had 
hardly  begun  to  recover  from  the  shock  when  Jimmy 
reached  the  back  door.  From  that  point,  however, 
his  recovery  was  practically  instantaneous.  He  leaped 
to  follow ;  he  tore  open  the  door  which  the  boy  had 
closed  quietly  behind  him.  And  his  forefinger, 
playful  no  longer,  shook  jerkily  at  his  stepson's  back, 
already  disappearing  down  a  beaten  path  which  led 
away  through  an  orchard  behind  the  house. 

The  little  man  was  no  longer  dapper.  His  inner, 
mental  state  had  wrought  a  visible,  exterior  dishevel- 
ment.  And  the  sonorous  accent,  won  by  years  of 
assiduous  cultivation,  went  down  before  a  burst  of 
outraged  pride. 

"If  you  go  now,  to  consort  with  that  creature  of 
the  burlesque,"  he  shrilled,  "you  go  to  stay!  Do 
you  hear  me?" 

The  boy  gave  no  sign  that  the  threat  had 
overtaken  him,  though  such  a  contingency  was 
unthinkable.  Mr.  Duncan's  speech  thereupon  lost 
coherence,  until  it  was  no  longer  intelligible,  but 
merely  very,  very  loud. 

Mrs.  Duncan  had  delayed  on  the  way  to  her 
room,  and  been  drawn  back,  inevitably.  Now  she 
laid  a  restraining  hand  upon  her  husband's  arm;  and 
her  remonstration,  while  agitated,  was  anything  but 
vociferous. 

"S-s-s-h!"  she  admonished.  "S-s-s-s-h,  Watson!  He 


87 

hears!     Don't  shout  sol     Do  you  want  the  whole 
neighborhood  to  hear,  too?" 

This  had  a  marked  effect  upon  Mr.  Duncan.  He 
swept  the  adjoining  grounds  with  a  startled  look, 
straightened  his  garments  with  shaking  fingers,  and 
slipped  noiselessly  inside. 

And  Jimmy  Gordon  went  steadily  on,  without  a 
backward  look.  He  had  traversed  the  orchard, 
negotiated  a  crazy  barbed-wire  fence  without  damage 
to  his  blue  serge,  and  crossed  a  decidedly  discouraged 
garden  plot  before  he  was  struck  with  the  riddle  in 
his  step-father's  speeding  words. 

" — That  creature  of  the  burlesque  1"  The  mean 
ing  of  the  words  was  simple  enough  to  get  at;  it  was 
only  their  seeming  lack  of  relevance  which  bothered. 
Jimmy  stood  repeating  them  aloud,  trying  to  make 
of  them  a  single  piece  with  his  present  destination. 
And  failing  utterly,  he  was  still  frowning  when  he 
rounded  the  corner  of  a  dingy  house  which  fronted 
an  unpaved,  back  street  and  stopped  again,  this  time 
before  an  open  door. 

He  had  come  perhaps  three  or  four  hundred  yards 
(the  difference  in  mean  elevation  was  slight,  but  this 
locality  was  not,  colloquially,  "up  on  the  hill." 

And  here  he  stopped  puzzling.  Beyond  the  door, 
back  toward  him,  stood  a  slender  bronze-haired  girl 
in  a  mad  little  costume  of  black,  a  slender  figure 
which  would  have  been  unrecognizable,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  familiar  tilt  of  her  head.  First  of  all 


88  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Jimmy  recalled  the  conversation  which  he  had  over 
heard  between  Evelyn  Latham  and  his  cousin 
Sidney,  but  his  brain,  tired  as  it  was,  picked  the  flaw 
in  such  a  deduction.  Amateur  theatricals,  especially 
those  planned  for  a  cultured  Warchester  audience, 
were  not  likely  to  call  for  that  black  bodice  which 
revealed  the  childish  curve  of  shoulder  and  breast, 
not  the  puffy,  fluffy  skirt  of  black  chiffon,  ending 
above  the  knees,  nor  so  frank  a  display  of  sheer  black 
silk  hose  and  tiny  slippers.  And  the  other  possible 
explanation  had  no  time  in  which  to  suggest  itself. 

The  girl's  head  tilted  to  the  other  side  as  she 
spread  the  folds  of  the  absurd  skirt,  preeningly,  then 
nodded  with  manifest  satisfaction;  whereupon  she 
laughed  softly,  hummed  a  measure  as  mad  as  the 
costume  itself,  and  tripped  a  dainty  step  or  two,  with 
the  grace  of  a  wild  thing. 

This  movement  made  room  for  the  boy's  reflection 
in  the  glass,  and  she  encountered  it  there.  She 
stiffened.  Her  eyes  grew  wide  and  shining.  She 
stared  at  it,  and  turned  and  stared  at  him.  Then  she 
flew  to  him  and  flashed  both  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Jimmy !"  she  cried.  "Jimmy!  And  I  was  afraid 
you  mightn't  get  back  until  after  I  was  gone  !  I  was 
beginning  to  think  you  weren't  coming  back  at  all." 

Assuredly  there  was  a  welcome  here.  The  girl's 
immature  body  quivered  her  gladness,  but  the  boy's 
face  exhibited  little  emotion  save  vague  curiosity  and 
a  certain  distaste  for  the  fuss  she  was  making  over 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE     89 

him.  He  unwound  her  arms  and  stood  her  away 
from  him;  she  submitted  to  his  scrutiny  with  a 
matter-of-fact  desire  for  his  approval  untinged  by 
self-consciousness ;  and  at  length  he  nodded  his  head. 
The  costume  spoke  for  itself. 

"I  thought  for  a  moment — just  for  a  moment — 
that  they  had  asked  you  to  take  part,"  he  said.  "Then 
you're — going  ?" 

It  was  an  old,  old  question  which  needed  no  ampli 
fication  to  be  clear.  Blissfully  the  bronze-crowned 
head  bobbed,  her  eyes  searched  his  for  something 
which  they  failed  to  find.  Jimmy  was  too 
fundamentally  honest  to  feign  a  sadness  such  as  his 
cousin  Sidney,  in  a  like  situation,  would  have 
managed  instinctively;  he  was  too  frankly  engrossed 
with  his  own  thoughts  to  be  glad,  just  because  she  was 
glad. 

"I  had  to,"  she  answered  in  a  tone  not  nearly  so 
brilliant.  "I  had  to.  It's  better  than  waiting  for  a 
chance  that  might  never  come.  Don't  I  look  pretty?" 

The  boy  entered  the  room  heavily,  crossed  on 
lagging  feet  and  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  a  red 
plush  covered  table.  For  a  time  he  sat  gazing 
vacantly  before  him,  his  chin  in  his  hands,  oblivious 
to  the  growing  distress  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"Chorus?"  he  asked  then,  abstractedly. 

She  nodded.  Her  voice  had  become  infinitely 
small  and  wistful. 

"  'The  Satin  Slipper.'    We  play  here  the  beginning 


90  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

of  next  week — we're  rehearsing  now — and  then  a 
month  or  so  on  the  road,  and  then  into  New  York. 
You're  glad,  aren't  you?  Won't  you  say  you  are 
glad?  Because  I've  never  been  so  happy  in  all  my 
life !" 

But  her  tone  belied  the  statement;  her  eager  little 
face  gave  it  the  lie.  And  the  next  instant  she  had 
darted  across  the  room  and  dropped  to  her  knees, 
and  buried  her  head  in  his  lap. 

"Jimmy! — Jimmy!"  she  sobbed.  "Oh,  I  don't 
want  to  leave  you  here  alone.  Are  you  going  to 
stay?" 

The  boy's  face  was  very  white  beneath  its  stain 
of  smoke  and  cinders.  His  attitude  remained  rigidly 
unchanged. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  vaguely. 

"But  you  couldn't  stand  it  here,  alone,"  she 
repeated,  with  a  gasp.  "You  couldn't  stand  itl 
Can't  you — can't  you  come?" 

"I  don't  know." 

From  the  very  dulness  of  his  reiteration  she 
realized  that  his  reply  was  purely  mechanical.  She 
looked  up,  and  finding  his  pallor  haggard,  all  in  a 
breath  her  own  expression  of  woe  was  gone,  hidden 
securely  from  eyes  as  bitterly  blinded  as  his.  With  a 
little  laugh,  almost  perfect  in  its  simulated  content- 
)ment,  she  was  back  upon  her  feet,  dusting  the  knees 
of  her  stockings  with  one  hand. 

"I'm  a  pig!"  she  accused  herself,  candidly.  "You're 


A  CREATURE  OF  THE  BURLESQUE     91 

tired;  you're  hungry — that's  what's  the  matter  with 
you.  And  I've  still  an  hour  almost,  before  I  have  to 
go;  I'm  going  to  get  you  something  to  eat.  And 
you'd  better  wash  your  face,  Jimmy.  It's  pretty 
smudgy — in  spots." 


CHAPTER  VII 


"NO  MATTER  WHAT  YOU  DO* 


THE  Warchester  Daily  Gazette  (pithily  termed 
the  "town  crier  and  criterion"  in  its  own 
advertising  matter)  was  not  the  only  pur 
veyor  of  divorce  and  disaster  of  which  the  city  could 
not  boast,  though  it  fretted  itself  but  little  over  the 
presence  of  a  competitor  in  the  field.  Indeed,  from 
Mr.  Latham,  the  proprietor  of  the  Gazette,  and 
Wainwright,  the  city  editor,  who  wore  bone-rimmed 
spectacles  upon  a  broad  black  ribbon  and  a  look  of 
large  affairs,  down  to  Charlie  Rice,  the  pompadoured 
expert  in  the  field  of  sports,  whose  fingers  were  yel 
lowed  with  cigarettes,  they  were  all  not  only  exceed 
ingly  grateful  for  the  other  daily's  opposition,  but 
secretly  solicitous  as  well  concerning  its  well-known 
financial  straits  and  uncertain  future  existence. 

Every  canvas  needs  its  frame;  and  while,  if  put 
to  it,  doubtless  every  member  of  the  Gazette  staff 
would  have  admitted  that  the  Gazette  was  a  superior 
product  of  modern,  up-to-the-minute  journalistic 
methods  worthy  of  comparison  with  any  sheet  in 
the  country,  it  was  still  very  satisfying  to  turn,  now 
and  then,  to  contrast  it  with  the  Courier. 

Municipal  Warchester  had  ceased  some  time 
92 


"NO  MATTER  WHAT  YOU  DO"      93 

before  to  boast  of  the  latter  paper  as  an  institution, 
but  the  Gazete  never  failed  to  treat  it  as  a  dignified 
and  capable  antagonist — an  attitude  not  so  harsh  and 
far  more  beneficial,  so  far  as  the  Gazette  was 
concerned.  Many  of  Wainwright's  most  brilliant 
paragraphs  were  tossed  off  after  a  pleasant  half-hour 
spent  in  perusing  an  editorial  composed  in  the  camp 
of  the  enemy;  he  was  fondest  of  all  of  heading  his 
own  column  with  a  reference  to  "the  opinion  of  our 
esteemed  and  scholarly  contemporary,  Mr.  Landis, 
who  once  more  attempts  to  attack  a  vital,  twentieth 
century  problem  with  a  lamentably  impractical,  mid- 
Victorian  pen." 

Oddly  enough,  repeated  use  of  this  word  scholarly 
had  in  the  end  won  for  the  Gazette  city  editor  himself 
a  reputation  for  sober  erudition  entirely  untempered 
by  ridicule.  Hence  the  broad  black  ribbon  and  the 
bone-rimmed  spectacles.  But  (odder  by  far)  no  one 
had  ever  stopped  to  think  that  the  appellation,  or 
accusation,  was  actually  accurate  in  the  case  of  David 
Landis.  It  had  been  left  to  the  man  on  the  street 
to  pass  final  judgment  upon  the  Courier's  excellence 
or  lack  of  it,  and  this  had  been  done  and  was  being 
done  in  no  definite  fashion.  The  news-stand  trade 
refused  to  purchase  the  Courier,  except  in  an 
extremity,  and  then  only  with  an  aggrieved  complaint, 
because  it  had  not  yet  succumbed  to  bankruptcy. 

Some  wag  had  dubbed  it  "T.  Elihu's  crown  of 


94  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

thorns,"  and  the  witticism  was  apt,  at  that.  For  the 
Courier's  attacks  upon  the  town's  great  man,  punc 
tilious  in  phrase  and  full  of  Biblical  allusion,  occurred 
with  weekly  regularity.  Since  it  was  a  matter  of 
public  record  that  the  shabby  house  on  the  back 
street  behind  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan's  white 
cottage  was  so  heavily  "papered"  with  mortgages 
held  by  T.  Elihu  that  a  coat  of  paint  was  out  of  the 
question,  this  hammering  of  T.  Elihu  was  viewed  not 
only  as  a  piece  of  colossal  foolishness,  but  also  as  a 
practice  in  doubtful  good  taste. 

Naturally  it  redounded  to  T.  Elihu's  credit.  The 
administration  was  always  fair  game,  but  he  was  not 
a  public  servant,  nor  had  he  yet  sought  that  honor. 
And  the  wage  scale  in  his  foundries  was  T.  Elihu's 
own  affair;  his  rating  in  the  community  proved  that 
he  was  quite  able  to  take  care  of  his  business  ventures 
without  the  aid  of  a  theoretical  old  incompetent  who 
could  not  endure  another's  success  without  giving 
way  to  envious  criticism.  And  the  allegation  (the 
same  which  the  Courier  periodically  invited  him  to 
"disprove")  that  the  Warchester  Construction 
Company  derived  pernicious  profits  through  the 
administration's  favoritism,  was  openly  derided.  The 
construction  company  underbid  its  competitiors 
because  it  had  unlimited  funds  at  its  disposal,  and  T. 
Elihu's  constructive  brain  behind  it.  And  who  wanted 
any  better  pavement  than  the  new  one  on  Front 
Street,  anyway? 


"NO  MATTER  WHAT  YOU  DO"      95 

As  for  T.  Elihu,  he  merely  laughed  good-naturedly; 
and  according  to  popular  opinion  the  Courier  existed 
only  by  the  grace  of  his  well-known  big-heartedness. 
David  Landis  alone  had  reason  to  know  that  such 
laughter  was  but  a  surface  ripple  which  obscured 
dangerous  depths,  just  as  he  alone  realized  that  the 
Courier  might  have  been  the  one  to  patronize,  while 
the  Gazette  languished  upon  the  stands,  if  only  he 
could  have  laid  aside  his  set  of  old-fashioned  scruples 
and  met  opportunity  half  way  when  T.  Elihu  entered 
the  market,  ten  years  before,  in  search  of  a  suitable 
advertising  medium  for  his  budding  greatness. 

Instead,  about  the  time  T.  Elihu  began  to  spend 
thought  upon  a  proper  site  for  the  red-brick  house 
Landis  acquired  his  first  mortgage,  calculated  to 
relieve  nothing  more  than  a  temporary  embarrass 
ment.  But  somehow  the  Gazette  had  begun 
immediately  to  cut  the  ground  from  under  his  feet, 
until,  slipping  deeper  and  deeper  into  debt  with 
each  new  year,  he  had  finally  reached  a  hopeless 
maximum.  The  Courier ,  however,  remained  unsub- 
sidized  and,  contrary  to  general  belief,  free  from 
incumbrance.  And  its  sole  owner,  who  had  sacrificed 
everything  to  retain  it,  continued  to  supply  it  with 
involved  and  tedious  editorials  aimed  at  the  "party 
in  power,  and  the  power  behind  the  party,"  without 
seeming  to  learn  that  ridicule  is  the  one  deadly 
battery  which  all  the  logic  in  the  world  cannot 
combat. 


96  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

He  came  and  went,  a  huge,  white-haired,  white- 
bearded  figure,  prophet-like  and  a  bit  pathetic, 
though  no  one  took  any  stock  in  his  prophecy  of 
revelation  and  retribution  to  come,  or  believed  that 
he  had  any  one  but  himself  to  blame.  Capable  of 
seeing  both  sides  of  a  question,  he  was  useless  as  a 
political  henchman.  As  a  newspaperman  he  left 
almost  as  much  to  be  desired.  He  had  been  known 
to  omit  the  most  piquant  details  of  a  local  scandal 
entirely,  simply  because  the  woman's  husband  had 
once  been  his  friend.  And  Tivotson,  the  Courier's 
editor  and  reportorial  staff,  laid  most  of  his  weekly 
sprees  at  his  superior's  door.  When  well  in  his  cups, 
Tivotson  was  wont  to  complain  tearfully  that  "the 
boss"  would  table  at  any  time  the  newest  instalment 
of  testimony  in  a  murder  trial,  if  he  wasn't  watched, 
to  make  room  for  a  lively  discussion  of  a  new  phase 
of  the  Baconian-Shakespearian  controversy. 

"Old  Dave"  Landis  had  grown  old  in  achieving 
failure,  but  he  was  not  envious  of  T.  Elihu  Banks, 
who,  willing  to  help  him  along  the  way  to  fortune, 
had  been  forced,  willy-nilly,  to  ruin  him.  His  bearing 
toward  the  town's  great  man  could  not  have  been 
•more  cheerful,  outside  his  official  capacity,  had  the 
latter  been  his  benefactor  in  fact.  It  was  only  on 
rare  occasions  that  he  gave  way  to  regret — only  now 
and  then,  when  he  chanced  upon  a  report  chronicling 
the  activities  of  the  younger  set  and  noted  that  his 
daughter's  name  was  not  in  the  list  headed  among 


"NO  MATTER  WHAT  YOU  DO"      97] 

those  present.  Now  and  then,  coming  upon  the  girl 
while  she  was  diligently  lengthening  a  threadbare 
skirt,  or  talking  softly  to  herself  over  a  stocking 
long  past  redemption,  he  let  himself  wonder  whether 
he  had  chosen  wisely,  after  all.  And  yet  Carol 
Landis  was  the  one  thing  closely  identified  with  his 
own  existence,  which  did  not  seem  to  appeal,  mutely 
or  otherwise,  for  commiseration. 

The  unpainted  house  on  the  back  street  had  grown 
to  look  like  its  owner ;  it  was  sadly  down  at  the  heel. 
The  Courier  reflected  his  image  flawlessly.  But  she 
resembled  him  not  at  all.  Her  smooth  skin  and 
coloring  had  come  from  her  mother,  and  seeming 
delicacy,  which  was  even  stronger  to  endure  than 
his  big-boned  frame.  Hers  was  a  more  vivid  per 
sonality  ;  she  was  alive  to  her  finger-tips — as  alive  as 
he  was  dreamy  and  absent-minded.  And,  whenever 
he  mentioned  the  subject,  she  curled  her  lips  at  him 
and  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  a  new  dress  and  chided 
him  for  thinking  of  such  extravagance.  In  no  wise 
hindered  from  thinking  her  own  thoughts,  she  sat 
and  listened  by  the  hour  to  his  essays — reams  and 
reams  of  them,  which  ultimately  drove  Tivotson  to 
further  excesses — bobbing  her  head  enthusiastically 
at  intervals  over  preachments  which  she  scarcely 
heard  and  never  understood,  while  he,  innocently 
delighted  and  temporarily  reinstated  in  his  own  self- 
respect,  believed  that  she  was  hanging  breathlessly 
upon  every  word.  Hungry  to  act,  she  proved  herself 


98  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

daily  a  consummate  artist;  she  treated  him  like  the 
veriest  Apostle  of  Success.  And  his  air  toward  her 
was  so  beautiful  a  mixture  of  courtly  deference  and 
apologetic  humility  that,  oftener  than  not,  it  brought 
desperate  hot  tears  to  her  eyes — tears  which  she 
never  dared  let  him  see,  lest  they  mar  the  entire 
performance. 

And  she  played  the  same  game  with  Jimmy 
Gordon;  played  it  more  skilfully,  if  anything,  for 
Jimmy's  eyes  were  sharper.  That  Sunday  afternoon 
she  left  him  alone  in  the  front  room  as  if  nothing  at 
all  was  amiss.  Her  going  was  followed  immediately 
by  a  most  cheerfully  energetic  shaking  of  a  grate.  To 
this  noise  the  boy  gave  no  heed,  but  later  he  did 
raise  his  head  and  sniff  at  the  penetrating  odor  of 
coffee.  And  he  had  finished  cleansing  his  hands  and 
face  before  she  spread  a  frayed  napkin  upon  the 
kitchen  table  and  placed  plate  and  cup  upon  it,  and 
sang  out  for  him  to  come. 

He  was  wolfishly  hungry.  Some  of  the  bitterness 
left  his  eyes  as  he  accepted  the  second  cup  of  scalding 
liquid  which  she  poured  and  urged  upon  him — though 
he  needed  urging  little  enough  in  truth.  Then  she 
laid  aside  her  apron  and  drew  a  chair  up  close  to 
his.  With  her  hands  tucked  childishly  under  her,  she 
sat  and  watched  him  eat,  but  she  smothered  her 
impulse  to  mother  him.  She  kept  her  eyes  from 
straying  to  the  bandaged  hand,  which  would  have 
been  the  better  for  a  strip  of  whiter  linen.  And 


99 

before  her  matter-of-fact  delight  in  his  splendid 
appetite  he  slowly  began  to  regain  his  outward 
usualness.  He  showed  a  faint  interest  in  her  mad 
little  costume,  and  she,  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to 
make  conversation,  seized  avidly  upon  the  question 
in  his  eyes. 

"The  wardrobe  woman  had  more  work  than  she 
could  do,"  she  explained,  "so  they  let  me  bring  mine 
home  to  fit  it  myself.  It  was  too  big  around  the 
waist." 

Jimmy  nodded.  She  remained  quiet  for  a  moment, 
considering  carefully  the  words  which  she  finally 
decided  to  venture. 

"Did  you — did  you  try  to  get  to  anybody  with 
your  play?"  she  hesitated. 

It  was  a  topic  which  rarely  failed  to  stir  him,  no 
matter  how  dark  his  mood,  yet  his  second  nod  was 
almost  as  spiritless  as  the  first. 

"A  few  hundred  I  think,"  he  said,  wtih  a  feeble 
attempt  at  humor.  "I  lost  count  after  the  first  days." 

He  paused,  and  she  misunderstood  the  dulness  in 
his  words,  and  found  it  hard  to  answer. 

"I  tried  all  the  little  ones  first,"  he  went  on,  "and 
never  got  past  the  office  boy.  They  were  all  too  busy, 
and  I  don't  suppose  I  looked  like  a  walking  adver 
tisement  of  prosperity,  either.  And  then  I  tried 
Harding — and  he  saw  me.  He  gave  me  a  half-hour, 
and  told  me  to  come  back  in  a  week,  after  he  had 
had  a  chance  to  read  the  stuff  over." 


(loo          HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

At  that  she  leaned  forward,  her  hands  going 
impulsively  to  his  knees. 

"Not  Harding!"  she  breathed.  "When  all  the 
rest  refused  you?  Tell  me,  Jimmy,  what  does  he 
look  like?" 

The  boy  smiled  a  little  over  her  very  feminine 
query  and  cast  about  for  a  suitable  means  of  com 
parison. 

"More  like  a  country  minister  than  anything  else," 
he  said  at  last.  "Sort  of  tired-looking  and  dis 
couraged.  And  his  clothes  were  in  almost  as  bad 
condition  as  my  own.  They  looked  as  though  they'd 
never  been  pressed."  Before  the  glow  in  her  eyes 
he  did  his  best  to  maintain  a  manner  of  indifference. 
"He  read  the  play,  and  offered  to  buy  the  first  act 
climax."  (Her  gasp  checked  him  momentarily.) 
"The  rest  was  rubbish,  he  said.  But  he  advised  me 
not  to  sell.  He  said  time  might  cure  me  of  the 
besetting  sin  of  all  playwrights — some  day  I 
wouldn't  be  so  young  and  tragic — if  I  didn't  starve 
to  death." 

"And  you're  not  going  to?"  she  asked  quickly. 

Again  his  peculiarly  crooked  grin. 

"Sell  or  starve?  I  took  his  advice  and  refused  his 
offer.  But  the  second  possibility  doesn't  seem  so 
remote,  at  that,  just  at  present.  May  I  have  some 
more  coffee,  Carol?" 

She  sprang  up  and  brought  it  to  him  with  an 
immediacy  so  fervid  that  it  was  not  unlike  a  caress. 


"NO  MATTER  WHAT  YOU  DO"      101 

And  she  stood  over  him  then,  contemplating  his  face 
so  steadfastly  that  he  was  constrained  to  laugh,  at 
length,  self-consciously. 

"No  one  will  ever  know,  Carol,"  he  said,  "how 
many  times  you  have  saved  my  life  in  just  such  a 
fashion  as  this  until  I  tell  them." 

But  her  small  face  remained  grave. 

"You've  had  trouble  again  at  home,"  she  accused 
him.  "Worse  than  usual?" 

He  nodded  rather  blithely. 

"Worse  than  usual,"  he  admitted. 

"Over  me?" 

He  protested  too  volubly,  so  that  even  his  detailed 
account  of  the  dog  fight,  meant  to  be  gay  and  inconse 
quential,  failed  to  deceive  her. 

"I  know,"  she  insisted,  with  a  calm  stubbornness 
that  she  had  inherited  from  her  father.  "I  know!" 
She  leaned  nearer,  her  face  filled  with  a  strangely 
vehement  tenderness.  "Then  you  were  going  to 
stay!  You  want  to  stay.  Jimmy,  are  you  sure  you 
really  care  for  her,  so  very,  very  much?" 

The  boy's  face  flamed  guiltily.  His  stiff  gesture 
was  so  restrainedly  violent  that  she  removed  her 
tightened  fingers  from  his  shoulders  and  stepped 
back  from  him.  But  she  clung  to  the  topic. 

"You  think  you  do,"  she  persisted.  "And  you 
think  that's  what's  holding  you  here.  But  it  isn't, 
Jimmy."  It  was  her  turn  to  lift  a  hand  and  cut  him 
short  as  he  started  to  interrupt.  "Oh,  I  know — I 


102  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

understand!  They've  treated  you  worse  than  they 
have  me,  and  haven't  I  told  myself,  a  thousand  times, 
that  some  day  I'd  make  them  proud  to  know  me? 
Don't  you  suppose. that  I  notice  how  careful  they 
are  not  to  see  me  on  the  street,  now  that  I've  started 
rehearsals?  It's  because  they're  all  against  you  that 
you  refuse  to  give  up.  But  I  wish  you'd  go.  You 
can  get  along  somehow;  it  couldn't  be  any  harder 
anywhere  than  it  is  for  you  here.  I  wish  you'd  go 
before  they  drive  you  out — or  before  they  drive  you 
to  something  worse." 

Her  voice  had  grown  husky ;  she  turned  away  from 
him  to  hide  the  look  upon  her  face.  In  the  silence 
that  followed  neither  of  them  heard  the  steps  of  him 
who  had  come,  without  knocking,  into  the  front 
room.  And  when  the  girl's  head  flashed  up  again, 
Sidney  Banks  was  standing  in  the  doorway.  Too 
startled  to  speak  at  first,  she  stood  staring  at  him. 
And  then,  her  cheeks  scarlet  under  the  unconcealed 
relish  in  his  regard,  abruptly  she  dropped  to  her 
knees.  The  puffy  black  skirt  mushroomed  about  her 
on  the  floor. 

Sidney  chuckled  softly  his  approval  of  this  move 
— an  obvious  challenge.  Still  chuckling,  he  advanced 
farther  into  the  room,  without  the  formality  of 
removing  his  hat,  until  he  stood  above  the  little, 
kneeling  figure,  too  happily  diverted  to  notice  the  boy 
at  the  table,  whose  head  had  shot  up  at  the  sound. 

"What  a  timid,  small  person  it  is!"  he  laughed. 


"NO  MATTER  WHAT  YOU  DO"      103 

And  he  bent  over  and  was  trying  to  lift  her  erect, 
when  a  hand  dropped  upon  his  elbow,  checking  both 
his  intention  and  the  girl's  fierce  effort  to  be  free. 

Instantly  Sidney's  expression,  meant  to  be  that  of 
a  man  wise  in  just  such  little  affairs,  suffered  a 
remarkable  change.  It  evinced  more  than  a  hint  of 
dismay,  and,  save  for  the  negligible  movement  neces 
sary  to  release  the  girl's  arms,  he  stood  utterly 
motionless,  like  one  who,  doubtless  regretting  an 
unfortunate  precipitancy,  still  hopes  to  forestall 
open  violence.  David  Landis  was  a  big  man. 

Then  bit  by  bit  his  head  came  around.  And  then, 
meeting  the  gaze  of  the  sorry  figure  in  blue  serge,  he 
was  able  to  laugh  again,  shakily,  albeit  with  much 
relief. 

"Greetings,  cousin  mine,"  he  exclaimed  over  a 
deep  breath.  "But  why  the  hostile  mien?" 

Jimmy  Gordon's  eyelids  were  blinking  with 
amazing  rapidity. 

"Let  her  alone,"  he  said  sullenly. 

Sidney's  eyebrows  lifted.  His  return  to  equanimity 
was  complete. 

"And  why,  pray  tell  me,"  he  asked — "why 
shouldn't  I  assist  a  young  lady  to  her  feet  if  I  so 
choose?" 

He  turned  to  Carol  Landis.  This  time  the  ban 
daged  hand  rested  more  heavily  upon  his  coat  sleeve. 

"Let  her  alone." 

Jimmy's  voice  was  hoarsely  expressionless,  for  he 


io4  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

made  no  effort  to  equal  or  outdo  his  cousin's  airiness, 
but  again  it  made  the  latter  pause. 

"Can't  you  see  she  doesn't  want  you  to  see  her 
dressed  like  that?" 

Sidney's  head  went  back  and  he  gave  way  to 
immoderate  laughter.  He  was  immensely  amused. 

"A  member  of  the  Palace  Theater  chorus,"  he 
murmured,  "and  yet  sensitive  over  the  matter  of 
abbreviated  draperies.  Cousin  James,  your  argument 
is  sadly  lacking  in  logic." 

Suddenly  the  girl's  lips  began  to  quiver.  Her  head 
drooped  over  until  the  hot  resentment  in  her  eyes 
was  hidden.  Jimmy  groped  and  touched  her  shoulder 
clumsily. 

"This  isn't  the  Palace  Theater,"  he  explained, 
with  seeming  weary  mildness.  "She  doesn't  want 
you  to  see  her  dressed  like  that." 

With  that  monotonous  reiteration  Sidney  found 
the  situation  grown  awkward  once  more.  He  had 
never  before  seen  his  cousin's  chronically  colorless 
face  so  peculiarly  white.  And  though  it  was  his 
opinion,  but  lately  voiced,  that  Jimmy  was  too 
lackadaisical  to  be  dangerous,  he  accepted  discretion 
as  the  better  part  of  valor. 

"A  truly  crushing  retort,  my  knight  in  buckram," 
he  said,  and  he  paid  mock  homage  to  the  girl  with 
a  flourish.  "My  mistake — my  deepest  apologies. 
May  I  tarry  long  enough  to  inquire  whether  your 
father  is  available?" 


105 

She  lifted  a  fierce,  small  face  without  offering  to 
reply.  So  Jimmy  took  that  office  upon  himself. 

"He's  not  at  home  just  now,"  he  answered;  and 
after  a  measured  pause.  "You  wouldn't  care  to  wait 
for  him,  would  you?" 

"Indeed  not!  Scarcely!  Give  me  credit  for  a 
shred  of  delicacy,  at  least.  I  have  already  intruded 
too  long.  When  he  gets  in  tell  him  that  the  Governor 
wants  to  see  him ;  an  urgent  matter,  I  believe.  And 
for  the  rest,  Jimmy,  you're  more  of  a  devil  of  a 
chap  than  I  had  believed,  up  to  date.  Congratulations 
— and  adios!" 

With  another  low  bow  he  wheeled.  They  heard 
him  laughing  softly  as  he  passed  out.  After  he  had 
gone  the  girl  came  slowly  to  her  feet.  Jimmy  was 
gazing  fixedly  at  the  doorway  through  which  Sidney 
had  disappeared,  and  she  stood  watching  his  face, 
as  if  fascinated  by  what  she  found  therein.  When 
he  started  slowly  to  follow,  she  reached  out  and 
restrained  him.  He  was  breathing  hard. 

"Why — why,  Jimmy!"  she  murmured.  "You're 
not  really  angry?  You  don't  really  mind  because 
he " 

He  broke  in  with  his  oddly  violent  gesture. 

"I've  already  told  you  just  how  it  would  be."  His 
voice  sounded  thick.  "And  he's  not  half  as  bad  as 
you'll  find  most  of  the  others.  He  only  tries  to  be. 
You've  picked  the  hardest  profession  there  is,  to 
succeed  in — and  the  easiest." 


io6  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

The  entire  accumulation  of  his  slow  rage  was  thus 
turned  upon  her,  but  she  bore  up  under  it  surprisingly 
well;  she  was  more  than  anything  unaccountably 
pleased.  For  it  was  the  first  comment  that  he  had 
made  upon  her  impending  departure. 

"But  they — they  like  him,  Jimmy,"  she  replied 
with  disarming  demureness.  "They  accept  him. 
Evelyn  Latham  entertains  him,  as  often  as  he  cares 
to  be  entertained.  And  if  he's  all  right,  then  it  must 
be  so,  mustn't  it?  I  guess  there's  something  very 
wrong  about  you  and  me." 

Her  resignation  was  too  meek.  Jimmy  refused  to 
be  misled  by  it — refused  to  go  back  to  the  argument 
which  she  had  picked  up  as  though  nothing  had 
happened.  He  consulted  his  unreliable  timepiece. 

"It's  a  quarter  to  eight,"  he  said.  "We'd  better 
be  starting  down." 

That  statement  proved  effectual.  She  ran  from 
the  room  and  came  back  wrapped  to  the  ankles  in  an 
old  coat. 

"I  was  waiting  for  father,"  she  said.  "He's  so 
very  prompt  usually.  He  insists  on  convoying  me 
to  and  from  the  theater  whenever  I  have  to  go  after 
dark,  though  it's  absurd  of  him  to  think  I  need  an 
escort,  when  I'll  soon  have  to  look  after  myself 
without  any  help  at  all.  I  think  it's  because  he's 
already  lonely.  Sometimes  I  think  I  can't  go,  only 
I  know  my  staying  now  would  be  even  harder  for 
him  to  bear.  I  wonder  why  T.Elihuwants  to  see  him  ?" 


"NO  MATTER  WHAT  YOU  DO"      107 

"Politics,"  replied  Jimmy  succinctly.  "There's 
something  doing;  they're  lining  up  for  next  election." 

"But  father  doesn't  sympathize  with  Mr.  Banks's 
policies,"  she  objected.  At  the  door  she  halted 
uncertainly.  Then  she  got  the  next  words  over  with 
as  quickly  as  possible.  "It's  not  necessary  for  you  to 
come  with  me  either,  Jimmy,"  she  said.  "If  you'd 
rather  not  walk  down  with  me — for  any  reason — I 
— I  won't  mind.  I'm  not  considered  a  very  proper 
person  to  be  seen  with  now,  you  know.  You're  tired 
out,  too ;  and  father  will  be  certain  to  come  for  me 
when  it  is  time  for  the  rehearsal  to  be  over." 

Dull  color  stained  Jimmy's  face.  Without  a  word, 
he  motioned  for  her  to  pass  out,  turned  down  the 
lamp  wick  and  joined  her  on  the  ramshackle  steps. 

"I  was  thinking  of  dropping  in  at  Hanlon's  any 
way,"  he  answered  absently.  "I  might  just  as  well 
walk  along." 

The  unenthusiastic  and  scarcely  flattering  explana 
tion  drove  the  resolutely  cheerful  smile  from  her  lips ; 
Ibut  the  next  step,  when  she  would  have  started  down 
the  unpaved  street,  he  found  her  arm  and  turned 
Iher  instead  into  the  path  that  led  through  the  orchard 
and  desolate  garden  patch,  past  the  Reverend 
Watson  Duncan's  very  back  door.  At  that  she  stole 
one  glance  at  his  set  face  and  found  it  difficult  to 
read.  After  he  had  helped  her  through  the  barbed- 
wire  fence  she  arrived  at  the  reason  for  this  choice 
of  route  without  any  help  from  him.  The  counte- 


io8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

nance  which  she  lifted  to  his  was  fairly  radiant. 

"I  usually  go  the  other  way  around,"  she  told  him. 
"It's  longer,  but " 

He  flushed  guiltily  before  such  shining  eyes. 

"We  can't  stand  here  talking  all  night,"  he 
interrupted.  "It's  nearly  eight — unless  you  want  to 
be  called  down  by  the  manager." 

Ungracious  as  the  warning  was,  she  seemed  to 
find  it  doubly  dear  because  of  its  very  gruffness. 
More  than  that,  she  seized  the  arm  nearest  her  and 
hugged  it  to  her  impulsively.  And  she  echoed, 
happily,  the  remark  which  Abel  Thompson  had 
voiced,  some  hours  earlier,  that  same  day. 

"What  a  funny  boy  you  are!  I'm  never  certain 
just  what  is  in  your  mind."  She  considered  that 
statement  and  found  it  inadequate.  "Do  you  believe 
I  would  have  cared  if  you  hadn't  wanted  to  come? 
Why,  Jimmy,  I'm  never  going  to  care — it's  never 
going  to  make  any  difference  to  me — no  matter  what 
you  do." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE 

A!^D  with  that  she  found  it  easy  to  talk  about 
herself  and  the  "career"  that  lay  before  her. 
With  her  little,   high-heeled  slippers   tucked 
under  her  one  arm,  she  hurried  to  keep  pace  with 
his  long  stride,  chattering  eagerly,  though  breath 
lessly,  with  every  step.  And  there  was  no  uncertainty, 
no  doubt  in  a  glorious  destiny,  to  mar  the  perfection 
of  her  anticipation. 

"And  so,  you  see,  you  won't  have  to  worry  one  bit 
about  me.  After  living  as  father  and  I  have  had  to 
live,  ever  since  I  can  remember,  one-night  stands 
can't  have  any  terrors  for  me.  It'll  be  hard,  I  know 
how  hard  it'll  be,  but  I'll  get  on.  .  .  .  Mr.  Whitby 
— he's  our  manager — has  told  me  twice  that  I  have 
done  remarkably  well.  Only  yesterday  he  said  that  I 
was  wasting  my  time  with  a  musical  show.  My  voice 
isn't  big  enough — it'll  never  amount  to  much.  And 
this  is  the  day  of  small  leading  women,  since  folks 
have  grown  tired  of  so  much  tragedy.  But  it's  a 
start,  isn't  it,  Jimmy?  And  that's  what  counts.  Who 
knows  ?  Maybe  Harding  will  come  to  me  some  day, 
begging  me  to  play  the  lead  in  one  of  your  own 
plays.  I  shall  be  very  "up  stage"  about  it — haven't 
I  picked  up  a  lot  of  theatrical  expressions?  No  doubt 

109 


no  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

I  shall  insist  at  first  that  it  is  out  of  the  question, 
until  he  chances  to  let  slip  the  fact  that  the  author 
is  an  old,  old  friend  of  mine — a  Mr.  Gordon, 
formerly  of  Warchester.  Then,  of  course,  I'll 
reconsider  the  proposition.  Maybe  you'll  come  to 
try  and  persuade  me  yourself.  And  we'll  go  out  to 
dinner — a  little  round  table  with  pink-shaded 
candles,  and  no  flowers  at  all  to  bother.  I'll  never 
be  very  big,  I'm  afraid,  but  for  the  first  half  hour 
or  so  I  expect  you'll  be  quite  uncomfortable  and 
mystified,  Jimmy,  and  a  little  dismayed  at  such  a 
formidable  personage.  And  then — then  I'm  afraid 
I  won't  be  able  to  play-act  any  longer.  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  lean  over,  when  the  waiter  isn't  looking,  and 
__and » 

The  white  dresses  were  gone  from  the  Latham 
veranda  as  they  passed  down  Warchester's  proudest 
thoroughfare — a  little  figure  in  a  nondescript  cloak, 
whose  tongue  raced  on  with  desperate  cheerfulness, 
and  a  thin  one,  stooped  for  want  of  rest,  who  tried 
to  smile  as  he  listened. 

He  was  careful  not  to  raise  his  eyes  to  the  white 
cottage  that  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  Latham 
grounds.  She  chattered  so  continuously  that  they 
were  passing  St.  Luke's  Church  before  he  knew  it.  A 
late  couple  or  two,  scurrying  to  evening  service,  gave 
the  pair  a  queer  glance  or  two  as  they  went  by.  And 
then,  as  the  notes  of  a  pipe-organ  came  swelling  with 
rumbling  grandeur  through  the  opened  vestry  door, 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE        in 

Carol's  hand  sought  his  and  clung  to  it  with  a 
passionately  tight  grip.  He  looked  down  and  found 
her  watching  him  from  brimming  eyes.  Though  he 
did  not  know  it,  she  realized,  without  having  to 
reason  it  out,  that  this  was  to  be  their  last  walk 
together  for  many  and  many  a  year.  The  boy  choir 
was  singing.  She  sobbed  brokenly,  aloud: 

"Whatever  you  decide  to  do — wherever  you  go— 
you'll  let  me  hear  from  you,  won't  you,  Jimmy? 
Promise !  No,  don't  shake  your  head.  Promise — I 
want  to  hear  you  say  you  will.  And  I'll  be  with  you, 
just  the  same,  no  matter  where  I  am.  Oh,  I  did 
want  so  much  to  go  away  cheerfully.  I  meant  to, 
and  here  I  am  crying  all  over  my  new  costume.  But 
I  can  write  to  you.  Perhaps  I'll  be  playing  some 
where  near  you,  some  day,  and  you  can  come  and 
watch  me  act.  Oh,  how  I  hate  this  town !" 

As  long  as  the  boy  lived  he  was  never  able  to 
remember  that  moment  without  a  painful  tightening 
of  his  throat.  Without  being  ashamed  of  it,  he 
returned  the  pressure  of  the  warm  fingers  curled 
about  his  own. 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  he  muttered.  "I'll  be  all  right. 
And  I  didn't  mean  what  I  said,  back  at  the  house.  I 
know  you  will  always  take  care  of  yourself." 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  head  of  the  alley  that 
led  past  the  Palace  Theater  stage  door  to  Pegleg's 
Place  she  had  stopped  crying;  she  was  even  smiling 
again.  He  opened  the  door  for  her.  A  tiny  piano 


ii2  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

back-stage  was  banging  out  the  same  mad  little  tune 
to  which  she  had  timed  her  capricious  dance  steps, 
before  the  mirror,  an  hour  before.  She  stood  with 
her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door,  looking  back  at 
him. 

"Do  you  want  to  come  in  and  watch?"  she  asked. 
"Would  they  mind?  Don't  they  know  you  here?" 

Over  her  shoulder  Jimmy  nodded  to  a  stage-hand, 
and  he  repeated  the  greeting  for  the  benefit  of  Abel 
Thompson  as  that  gentleman  of  color  came  hurrying 
up,  importantly  bent  upon  exercising  his  authority  as 
keeper  of  the  gate.  Abel  thawed  as  he  became  aware 
of  the  identity  of  this  cavalier. 

"Evenin',  Miss  Landis."  He  made  of  the  saluta 
tion  a  ceremonial.  "Evenin,'  Mist'  Goh'don.  They 
done  called  for  the  chorus  awready,  miss.  Yuh  bet' 
run  along."  And  there  he  abandoned  formality. 
"Comin'  in,  Jimmy?"  he  inquired. 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"I'll  wait  for  you  here,"  he  said  to  the  girl.  "I'll 
be  here  when  you  come  out." 

And  he  had  dropped  to  the  step,  his  thin  face 
propped  in  his  hands  the  next  moment,  without 
hearing  her  reply  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  him 
to  wait.  She  stood  there,  one  hand  half  stretched 
out  toward  him,  until  Abel  Thompson  repeated  his 
warning.  And  that  was  the  way  she  remembered 
him,  through  many  long  years. 

For  a  time  Jimmy  managed  to  keep  awake,  with 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE        113 

no  little  assistance  from  the  hard  stone  step  and 
piano  within.  For  a  time  he  heard  the  strain  of  that 
mad  tune,  repeated  with  nerve-racking  monotony: 
"If  you're  going  to  love  me,  love  me,  love  me — if 
you're  going  to  love  me  at  all."  Then  the  rhythm 
became  indistinct;  the  words  ill-matched  with  the 
music.  And  he  was  puzzling  mildly  at  the  oddity  of 
an  anthem  set  to  syncopation,  when  he  fell  asleep. 

His  body  slept,  and  his  brain,  and  yet  he  was 
conscious  of  things  which  transpired  about  him.  He 
knew  when  the  piano's  din  ceased  entirely;  he  knew 
when  two  men  stopped  there  in  the  alley  in  front  of 
him  and  contemplated  his  bowed  head.  One  of  them 
spoke  his  name,  compassionately,  but  he  was  unable 
to  move  or  answer.  And  he  was  wondering  what  old 
David  Landis  was  doing  in  the  company  of  Pegleg 
Hanlon,  wondering  what  had  brought  him  to  Han- 
Ion's  Hotel,  when  he  felt  himself  lifted  and  borne 
along  on  strong  arms.  The  owner  of  those  arms 
limped  as  he  walked,  and  the  uneven  motion 
disturbed  his  slumber.  And  then  the  sun  was  in  his 
eyes.  He  woke  with  a  start,  and  lay  blinking  at 
the  strong  light  streaming  upon  his  face  from  an 
open  window.  Pegleg  himself  was  standing  beside 
the  bed,  grinning  down  at  him  like  a  good-natured 
satyr.  Still  blinking,  Jimmy  looked  about  him,  and 
the  very  cleanliness  of  the  room  told  him  where  he 
was.  All  of  Hanlon's  rooms  were  kept  spotless. 

"So  I  didn't  dream  it,  eh?"  he  began,  stretch- 


ii4  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

ing  himself  luxuriously.      "You  brought  me  in?" 

Pegleg  shook  his  huge,  shaggy  head. 

"I  did,"  he  answered.  "Carried  ye — like  a 
blessed  infant.  And  it's  little  more  ye  weight  than 
many  that's  only  half  grown.  Since  whin  have  ye 
taken  to  sleepin'  on  the  stones?" 

At  that  question  the  boy's  face  grew  a  little  dis 
turbed. 

"I  was  waiting  to  take  a  lady  home,"  he  explained, 
lugubriously.  "Miss  Landis — but  I  suppose  her 
father  met  her?" 

Hanlon  seemed  to  find  that  query  worthy  of  a 
little  thought. 

"He  did,  he  admitted.  And,  watching  the  boy's 
face  keenly :  "Ye  were  awake,  thin  ?  They've  already 
learned  ye  to  sleep  with  one  av  your  ears  open." 

"Yes,  and  no."  Jimmy's  grin  was  most  engagingly 
disarming.  "I  did,  and  I  didn't.  I  thought  I  heard 
him,  talking,  but  I  wasn't  quite  certain  whether  it 
was  a  dream  or  not."  He  paused  while  his  eyes 
swung  thoughtfully  around  the  room.  There  was  a 
humorous  crook  to  his  lips  when  he  went  on. 
"Pegleg,"  he  asked,  "what's  the  best  rate  you  could 
make  me  on  a  suite  such  as  this — your  very  best — 
for  an  indefinite  period?" 

The  Irishman's  great  head  came  forward  at  that. 
He  squinted  as  though  the  matter  was  a  serious 
one. 

"So  they've  driven  ye  out  at  last,  have  they?"  he 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE       115 

growled.     "They've  cast  ye  for-rth  to  her-rd  with 
your  own  kind?" 

"They  have,"  admitted  Jimmy.  "Bag-less  and 
baggage-less.  Pegleg,  are  you  purposely  avoiding 
a  direct  answer  to  my  question?" 

And  then  Pegleg  caught  the  bruised  look  in  the 
boy's  eyes. 

"  'Tis  meself  that's  a  poor  one  to  be  quotin'  Scrip 
ture,"  he  rumbled,  "and  'tis  an  uncharitable  thing, 
anyhow,  to  inflict  it  upon  ye,  on  an  empty  stomach. 
But,  though  I  fail  to  remimber  the  verse,  unless  I'm 
wor-rse  mistaken  than  usual,  there's  a  Biblical  prece 
dent  for  your  predicament.  Did  ye  mention  an 
indefinite  period?" 

"Necessarily  so,"  said  the  boy. 

"Thin   the   problem   requires   deep   meditation," 

stated    Pegleg.      "I'll    make    my    decision    in    no 

unchristian  haste.    Some  I  accept  without  credentials 

av  anny  sort  whatever,  being  something  av  a  student 

av  human  nature;  to  some — not  many — I  suggest 

payment  in  advance.      I   have  heard  unpromising 

tales  concerning  you,  me  young  and  grinnin'  friend. 

In  view  of  your  imminintly  respectable  connections, 

me  confidence  is  none  too  str-rong.     Now,  will  ye 

have  your  breakfast  served  to  ye  in  bed,  or  will  ye 

rise  and  come  downstairs  and  eat  your  dinner  like 

respectable  folks  that  sleep  o'  nights?"    His  scrutiny 

grew  shrewd.     "I've  a  deal  to  question  ye  about. 

Maybe  a  bit  av  a  discussion  will  remove  some  av  the 


n6          HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

indefiniteness  from  your  mind.  Maybe  'twill  prove 
fruitful  for  the  both  av  us,  who  knows  ?  Git  up,  ye 
institgator  av  Sabbath  riot  an'  unholy  conflict.  An* 
pray  God,  me  lad,  ye're  always  able  to  laugh." 

After  he  had  left  the  room  Jimmy  lay  pondering 
his  words  until  the  smile  became  fixed  upon  his  lips. 
Then  he  took  the  surest  way  of  solving  the  riddle  in 
them:  he  rose  and  dressed  and  joined  Pegleg  in  the 
public  room  downstairs.  Seated  opposite  each  other 
at  a  round  table  drawn  up  close  to  the  windows  that 
overlooked  the  river  they  ate  for  a  time  in  silence. 
And  then,  abruptly,  Pegleg  spoke  of  the  matter  that 
was  on  his  mind. 

"Ye're  broke,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  with  fine 
candor.  "No  doubt  ye've  squandered  yere  sustinence 
in  riotous  living." 

Jimmy  jingled  a  handful  of  small  coins  in  his 
pocket  and  assumed  an  injured  air. 

UI  always  knew  I'd  find  you  out  some  day,  Pegleg," 
he  countered.  "You're  taking  no  chance  on  a  guest 
who  may  prove  unable  to  pay.  But  I'd  have  you 
know  that  I'm  at  present  still  a  gentleman  of  some 
means." 

Pegleg's  eyes  twinkled. 

"Sur-re,  an'  there  was  a  time  whin  such  means  as 
yours  might  have  been  an  asset,  instead  av  a  disquali 
fication.  'Twas  once  the  genteel  thing,  right  here  in 
Warchester,  to  be  poor  but  proud,  though  the  vogue 
has  come  to  be  of  late  more  or  less  frowned  upon. 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE       117 

iTo  the  divil  wit  ye  and  your  two-dollar-bill  calamity 
fund  that  ye  have  boarded  up  there  in  your  vest 
pocket.  Ye're  broke.  Ye  never  were  anything  else. 
The  vital  issue  is — are  ye  too  proud  to  wor-rk  ?" 

Jimmy  was  glancing  absently  at  his  watch  as  he 
made  reply. 

"That  depends,"  he  temporized,  "on  how  much 
the  occupation  which  you  have  in  mind  might  inter 
fere  with  the  profession  I've  already  adopted." 

"Meanin*  that  ye  are  still  set  upon  augmentin'  the 
present  supply  av  current  literachure  ?" 

Jimmy  sighed  his  whimsical  affirmative. 

"But  supposin'  that  the  proposition  I'm  about  to 
lay  before  ye  was  itself  av  that  nature?" 

Immediately  the  boy's  eyes  showed  a  gleam  of 
comprehension.  He  recalled  several  phrases  of  his 
stepfather's  tirade  which  had  themselves  been  an 
echo  of  T.  Elihu's  earlier  lengthy  discourse;  he 
remembered  that  David  Landis  had  been  with  Han- 
Ion,  just  before  the  latter  lifted  him  from  the  stage- 
door  step  of  the  Palace  Theater  and  carried  him 
in  to  bed. 

"You  mean  the  Courier?"  he  asked,  though  the 
question  was  needless,  for  Pegleg's  proposition  was 
already  quite  clear. 

"Ye  always  were  a  quick  wan  to  find  the  kernel  in 
the  nut."  Pegleg  admitted  the  correctness  of  the 
conclusion.  "And  'twould  be  better  than  starving 
in  a  garret  unless  ye  consider  such  an  attachment 


n8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

beneath  the  contempt  av  one  av  your  high  aims  and 
ability." 

At  that  the  boy  smiled  feebly. 

"Don't,"  he  laughed.  "Don't  be  too  rough, 
Pegleg.  I'm  more  sensitive  than  I  was  before  I 
went  away.  What  duties  would  the  attachment 
entail?" 

"Gineral  utility,  av  course,"  Pegleg  explained. 
"Reporter  is  the  customary  polite  term  applied  to  the 
same.  Office-boy,  maybe,  now  and  then ;  and  editor- 
in-chief  during  the  Tivotson's  unfortunate 
digressions  from  the  paths  av  temperance." 

For  a  moment  Jimmy  was  quiet. 

"Whose  idea  was  it — yours?"  he  murmured  then. 

"Mine  and  that  av  me  esteemed  and  scholarly  con 
temporary,  Dave  Landis."  Pegleg  could  no  longer 
ignore  the  expression  upon  the  other's  face. 
Obviously  the  boy's  heart  was  not  in  the  conversa 
tion.  uYe  don't  seem  to  be  wildly  elated  at  the 
prospect." 

"It's  not  that,"  objected  Jimmy  quickly.  "It's 
only  that  I'm  not  certain  yet,  whether " 

Pegleg  dropped  his  heavily  facetious  manner. 

"Maybe  I've  not  elucidated  with  sufficient  clarity," 
he  interrupted;  and  eyeing  the  boy's  averted  face 
steadily:  "What  gossip  might  ye  have  already  heard 
whispered  concerning  the  comin'  elections?"  he 
inquired. 

Jimmy  blinked.    His  thin  face  grew  quizzical. 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE      119 

"Not  much,"  he  laughed,  "and  what  I  have  heard 
wasn't  spoken  in  a  whisper,  either.  But  from  it  I 
gathered  that  Warchester  stood  threatened  by  a 
great  moral  and  political  house-cleaning.  In  fact, 
any  own  roofless  state  is  the  outcome  of  righteous 
forbearance  too  long  imposed  upon.  I'm  the  first 
warning  example." 

"Ye  heard  with  accuracy."  Suddenly  Pegleg 
rumbled  an  oath.  "By  anny  chance  did  your 
informer  confide  in  ye  the  names  or  name  av  those 
behind  this  rebellion  av  respectability?" 

"Only  in  a  vague  way."  There  was  sheer  delight 
in  Jimmy's  grin.  "I  was  given  to  understand  that 
this  would  be  a  campaign  uncontaminated  by  the 
vicious  practices  of  party  politics." 

"To  hell  ye  were,"  cried  Pegleg  joyously.  "Be 
damned  to  ye,  and  yere  crooked  smile.  Ye  know 
better.  They'll  be  namin'  T.  Elihu  Banks  for  mayor 
before  the  fortnight  is  out.  But  do  ye  think  he 
means  to  stop  at  that?  Go  'way  wid  ye — I  thought  ye 
had  more  sense  behind  yere  sleepy  eyelids.  Right 
now,  I'm  tellin'  ye,  he's  practising  a  new  signature. 
He's  rehearsin'  T.  Elihu  Banks,  United  States 
Senator,  and  greatly  admirin'  the  flourishes  bewhiles. 
Our  imminint  townsman  is  enjoyin'  visions  av 
Washington,  D.  C." 

"And  you  hope  to  disappoint  him,  through  the 
columns  of  the  Courier?"  asked  Jimmy,  with  mild 
sarcasm. 


120  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Pegleg's  seamed  face  became  stern. 

"We've  weathered  one  business-man's  administra 
tion  av  this  city's  affairs,"  he  pounded  on  the  table 
— "and  it  was  businesslike  in  truth.  Manny's  the 
limousine  that  goes  whizzin'  up  on  the  hill  these  days 
that  came  from  a  highly  specialized  knowledge  av 
how  to  make  two  dollars  sprout  where  only  wan 
languished  before.  We  have  had  some  cliver  min  in 
our  own  circle,  Jimmy — min  av  which  we  had  reason 
to  be  proud.  They  were  in  politics  for  what  they 
could  get  out  av  it,  frankly  and  without  blushing  or 
trying  to  assure  the  populace  that  they  were  servin' 
because  their  country  called.  And  they  thought  that 
they  knew  something  about  the  special-privilege 
game,  until  your  business-men  shamed  them  for  rank 
amateurs.  'Twas  the  most  prolific  year  the  bank 
ruptcy  courts  had  known  in  manny  a  season."  A 
great  frown  creased  Pegleg's  forehead.  "Jimmy, 
lad,"  he  asked  softly,  "it's  not  because  your  nerve 
has  gone  back  on  you  at  last  is  it?  Sur-re,  T.  Elihu 
Banks  is  a  name  to  conjure  with,  and  he  talks  large 
and  frequent.  Is  it  the  name  av  Banks  that  gives  ye 
pause  for  thought?" 

"You  know  better,"  answered  Jimmy.  "And 
you're  not  trying  to  tell  me,  are  you,  Pegleg,  that  the 
news  of  my  affiliation  with  the  Courier  would  throw 
him  into  consternation?" 

A  cunning  look  swept  Hanlon's  features. 

"More  than  ye  believe,"  he  shot  back.     "More 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE       121 

than  ye  think.  Have  ye  ever  stopped  to  wonder  why 
ye  have  always  been  an  aggravation  in  his  sight?" 

"More  than  once,"  Jimmy  admitted.  "It's  beyond 
rne.  The  answer's  too  difficult." 

" — Unless,  perhaps,  he  realizes  that  ye've  seen 
through  the  sham  av  him,  and  that  he  will  never 
forgive,  for  'twould  not  be  safe.  Ye  always  were 
too  modest,  Jimmy ;  ye've  never  taken  yerself  serious 
enough,  though  God  knows,  if  ye  had,  ye'd  been  dead 
by  now.  And  T.  Elihu's  not  finished  with  ye  yet. 
Mark  that!  There's  Dave  Landis,  and  a  dozen 
others  I  might  mention,  whom  ye'd  do  well  to 
consider."  He  shook  his  shaggy  mane.  "Ye  don't 
say  yes,  nor  no.  Is  it  because  ye  hesitate  to  be 
identified  with  a  discredited  old  misfit  like  Landis, 
or  a  pariah  such  as  meself  ?" 

For  the  first  time  Jimmy's  voice  held  some  heat. 

"You  know  better  than  to  talk  like  that,  Pegleg. 
Haven't  I  come  and  asked  you  to  take  me  in  for  a 
few  days?" 

"I  brought  ye,"  contradicted  the  other,  sulkily. 
And  then,  with  a  mollified  laugh:  "Ye  are  one  who 
knows  that  Hanlon's  Hotel  is  not  guilty  av  the  name 
which  people  who  would  not  brush  their  garments 
against  its  door-frame  have  given  it.  I'm  a  bit  proud 
av  me  place,  Jimmy.  That  would  shock  thim,  eh, 
if  they  could  hear  me  speak  like  that?  I've  tried  to 
keep  it  clean  and  savory,  for  the  use  av  thim  that's 
not  so  lucky  as  some,  and  they're  no  more  particular 


122  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

in  the  Bay  State  itself  concerning  the  matter  av 
registry  than  I  am  here,  though  they  tell  me  that  lack 
av  baggage  calls  for  paymint  in  advance. 

"I'm  askin'  your  pardon  for  the  break,  and  the 
room  is  yours  till  ye  wish  to  quit  it.  But  I'm  not 
hidin'  my  disappointment  because  ye're  not  eager  for 
the  chance.  Somehow  I  got  it  into  my  head  that 
ye'd  leap  at  it.  This  is  your  own  home  town, 
though  no  man  knows  ye  well  would  contend  that  ye 
have  cause  to  cherish  it.  Yet  there's  manny  in  it 
would  listen  to  ye,  more  than  ye  know,  to  whom  ye've 
gave  help  and  money  without  considering  the 
excellence  av  the  investment.  I  thought  ye  might  say 
a  word  or  two  to  thim,  through  the  colyums  av  the 
Courier — maybe  say  a  word  or  two  for  such  as  thim 
that  frequents  me  ill-favored  joint.  But  ye're  not  ripe 
for  even  a  consideration  av  the  project.  I  should 
have  waited,  maybe,  until " 

"It's  not  that,"  interjected  Jimmy.  "It's  only  that 
I'm  not  sure — if  you  want  to  wait " 

"Take  a  day  or  two  and  think  it  over,"  advised 
Pegleg  heartily.  "And  while  I  know  that  the  figure 
is  givin'  ye  no  trouble,  I'll  tell  ye  now  that  the  salary 
will  at  least  pay  for  your  board  and  keep.  Think  it 
over  thin,  whin  ye  get  your  bearin's.  Ye've  only 
been  home  two  days." 

"I  will,"  said  Jimmy  soberly.  "And  I'm  not  half 
as  grateful  as  I  ought  to  be.  Not  two  days,  Pegleg. 
I  got  in  late  yesterday  afternoon." 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE       123 

"So  ye  didn't  know,"  he  chuckled.  "I  wondered. 
To-day's  Chuesday,  me  lad,  not  Monday.  And  it 
was  Sunday  night  I  picked  ye  up  sleepin'  in  the  allgey 
— Sunday  night  at  twelve.  YeVe  been  dead  to  the 
world  for  thirty-six  hours,  or  thereabouts.  Tourin' 
is  wearing  on  the  flesh,  'tis  true.  Ye  should  patronize 
the  parlor  cars  more,  me  ramblin'  young  friend." 

Jimmy's  face  became  something  aghast. 

"Tuesday,"  he  echoed  blankly.  "You're  joking 
me,  Pegleg."  And,  rising  hurriedly  as  Pegleg's  nod 
corroborated  his  words,  "I'll — I'll  let  you  know 
later.  I  wish  I  could  say  yes,  but  I'm  not  just  sure. 
....  I  don't  have  to  thank  you  for  the  room.  I'll 
let  you  know  in  the  morning." 

With  as  much  haste  as  Pegleg  had  ever  seen  him 
show,  he  left  the  room.  Outside,  in  the  alley,  he 
paused  long  enough  for  a  word  with  Abel  Thompson, 
who  was  lounging  at  perfect  ease  in  the  stage- 
doorway. 

"They  done  finished  with  the  dress-rehearsal 
aw'ready,"  Abel  answered  the  boy's  question. 
"Reg'lar  pufformance  scheduled  for  eight-thutty 
to-night.  Coin'  be  some  affair — some  affair!  An', 
man,  ain't  'at  young  Mist'  Banks  got  a  plenty  o'  new 
ideas?  Nevah  did  have  so  much  responsibility 
hangin'  ovah  mah  head  befoh.  Flowers  fom  all  nem 
young  ladies — ev'ything  gotta  be  high-class  and 
genteel  'round  this  old  show-house  to-night.  Ev'y- 
body  on  the  jump,  till  I  ain't  got  time  lef  to  breathe." 


i24  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Driven  as  he  was,  however,  he  continued  to  lounge 
in  the  doorway,  giving  thought  to  Jimmy's  hurried 
disappearance. 

"Goin'  somewheres,"  he  concluded  profoundly, 
aloud.  "Goin'  somewheres,  'at's  sure.  Must  be 
impohtant,  too,  'f  it  make  him  hustle  like  'at." 

And  Abel's  conclusion  was  accurate.  Working  on 
the  theory  that  unpleasant  tasks  are  best  over  with  as 
soon  as  possible,  Jimmy  made  two  trips  that  after 
noon  between  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan's  white 
cottage  up  on  the  hill  and  Hanlon's  Hotel.  Two  trips 
sufficed  nicely  to  transfer  his  belongings — the 
typewriter  and  some  few  books  and  an  armful  of 
doubtfully  serviceable  clothes — from  the  room  which 
overlooked  the  Latham  grounds  to  that  one  which 
overlooked  the  oil-smeared  "river." 

No  good-bys  were  indulged  in,  unless  one  might 
so  class  the  long  look  which  the  boy  gave  the  bench 
at  the  edge  of  the  lawn  beneath  his  window,  for  Mrs. 
Duncan  was  not  at  home,  nor  the  reverend  gentleman 
who  had  given  the  afternoon  over  to  conference  with 
Mr.  Banks.  On  both  trips  Jimmy  was  accompanied 
by  the  grave  and  self-possessed  Airedale,  Oh  Boy, 
who  showed  an  unsual  interest  in  the  proceedings; 
and  by  six  o'clock  that  evening  the  news  had  spread 
through  Warchester's  choicest  residential  district  and 
all  "downtown"  as  well. 

Those  who  dwelt  upon  the  heights  remarked  that 
at  last  Jimmy  Gordon  had  reached  his  level — they 


A  FORMIDABLE  PERSONAGE       125' 

I 

remarked  it  at  considerable  length,  quite  as  though 
they  had  foretold  it  long  before  and  took  personal 
credit  that  it  had  finally  come  to  pass.  In  other, 
obscurer,  sections  it  made  less  of  a  stir.  Indeed,  it 
was  discussed  with  a  sort  of  lightness  and  a  certain 
degree  of  pleasure.  As  Pegleg  Hanlon  had  said, 
there  were  those  in  Warchester  who  actually  sought 
and  valued  Jimmy  Gordon's  society.  But  the  object 
of  this  divided  comment  gave  it  no  heed  whatever. 
He  kept  to  himself  throughout  the  rest  of  the  day; 
he  was  occupied  with  other  thoughts. 

It  turned  cold  with  the  coming  of  dusk,  and  the 
sudden  drop  in  temperature  was  followed  by  a 
rainstorm  more  befitting  November  than  late  in 
August.  An  hour  before  Evelyn  Latham's  electric 
coupe  was  due  to  arrive,  Jimmy  had  taken  his  place 
behind  the  pile  of  discarded  scenery  in  the  alley,  a 
vantage  point  settled  upon  before  it  grew  too  dusky 
to  choose.  It  was  dark  there  in  the  shadow,  but  the 
stage-door,  when  opened,  shed  a  pool  of  light  upon 
the  swimming  pavement,  where  she  would  have  to 
pass. 

And  waiting,  the  boy  forgot  even  the  rain.  Now 
and  then  he  shivered,  but  he  was  wholly  content. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION 

IN  commenting  upon  the  affair,  characterized  in 
the  next  morning's  edition  of  the  Gazette  as 
"The  Season's  Smartest  Society  Function,"  so 
miuch  space  was  devoted  by  Mr.  Wainwright  to  a 
description  of  the  "glittering,  tinseled  throng  which 
began  to  seep  into  the  Palace  Theater  looby  long 
before  eight-thirty,  the  hour  set  for  the  rising  of  the 
curtain,"  that  it  appears  certain  Mr.  Wainwright 
must  have  viewed  the  influx  from  a  point  fully  as 
vantageous  as  was  Jimmy  Gordon's,  though,  it  is  to 
hoped,  somewhat  less  exposed. 

For  Mr.  Wainwright  devoted  an  entire  paragraph 
to  the  foregathering  of  Warchester's  best  people — 
to  the  "staccato  racket  of  motor  cars  and  the  sedate 
simplicity  of  the  equipages  of  our  older  families." 
And  while  Jimmy's  thoughts  concerning  the  weather 
were  less  than  negligible,  since  he  gave  it  no  thought 
at  all,  Mr.  Wainwright,  though  conscious  of  the 
downpour,  happily  ignored  its  drawbacks  and  found 
in  it  added  color  for  his  pen. 

"The  broad  sweep  of  pavement,  glistening  and 
sleek  and  mirror-like  with  rain,  reflecting  the  myriad 

126 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION     127 

lights  of  Main  Street  in  blurred  pools  of  brilliance, 
clicking  to  the  passage  of  dainty  slippers,  which 
flashed  from  beneath  high-swung  draperies."  .  .  . 
Indeed,  it  afforded  the  editor  of  the  Gazette  an 
opportunity  to  indulge  his  widely  admired  faculty  for 
poetic  phrasing,  all  too  seldom  called  into  play  by 
the  humdrum  chronicling  of  duller  daily  news.  And 
he  indulged  it  to  a  glorification  of  the  last  muddy 
puddle  before  the  Palace  Theater  curb,  quite  as 
though  the  puddle  itself  was  a  part  of  the  excellent 
scheme  of  management  and  not  the  profanity- 
provoking  result  of  Main  Street's  defective  drainage 
before  he  plunged  into  the  body  of  his  report. 

"Last  night,"  he  confidently  assured  the  Gazette 
subscribers,  "the  old  Palace  Theater,  itself  an  institu 
tion  of  doubtful  antecedents  and  none  too  savory 
present-day  associations — (By  the  way,  when  is 
Warchester  to  have  a  theater  worthy  of  the  name?) 
— was  the  scene  of  an  affair  which  will  long  stand 
unmatched  for  novelty  in  the  social  annals  of  this 
city.  For  though  such  professional  productions  as 
have  seemed  worthy  in  the  eyes  of  our  appreciative 
though  perhaps  supercritical  theatergoers,  have  from 
time  to  time  been  accorded  a  generous  hearing,  no 
gathering  has  ever  equaled,  either  in  individual 
brilliance  or  cosmopolitan  flavor,  that  which  filled  the 
crowded  auditorium  last  night  to  view  the  amateur 
performance  enacted  by  members  of  our  younger  set 
in  the  interest  of  a  prominent  home  charity. 


128  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

".  .  .  .  Students  of  dramatic  form  and  expression, 
members  of  our  local  Dramatic  League,  competent 
to  judge  through  years  of  study  both  of  the  methods 
of  the  moment  and  a  former,  perhaps  old-fashioned 
but  admittedly  more  artistic  decade,  and  those  of  less 
serious  bent,  who  came  merely  to  be  amused,  rubbed 
elbows  in  pit  and  proscenium,  alike  delighted  and 
astounded  by  the  exhibition  of  histrionic  ability 
which,  while  hitherto  not  entirely  unsuspected,  never 
theless  exceeded  their  most  optimistic  expectations. 

"With  the  verdict  of  the  former,"  Mr. 
Wainwright  was  happy  to  be  able  to  state,  " — those 
whose  criticism  has  proved  the  bane  of  more  than 
one  metropolitan  manager  who  has  entered 
Warchester  hoping  to  foist  an  inferior  production 
upon  a  supposedly  provincial  audience — the  Gazette 
is  in  entire  accord.  Never  before  has  a  more 
delicately  shaded  interpretation  of  a  character's 
moods  been  presented  than  was  given  by  Miss  Evelyn 
Latham,  daughter  of  J.  J.  Latham,  in  the  leading 
role.  From  her  first  entrance  she  dominated  the 
stage,  not  alone  because  hers  was  the  stellar  part 
about  which  the  action  of  the  piece  necessarily 
revolved,  but  by  grace  of  the  sheer  magnetism  of 
her  own  delightful  personality,  that  paramount 
dramatic  gift  without  which  there  is  no  supremacy 
upon  the  stage  to-day. 

"Miss  Latham  can  act.  No  other  phrase,  no 
matter  how  adorned  by  superlative  it  might  be, 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION     129 

could  better  express  the  consensus  of  opinion  heard 
on  all  sides  during  the  progress  of  the  production. 
Her  part  was  exacting  in  the  extreme.  It  ran  the 
entire  gamut  of  emotions,  from  lighter  moments  in 
which  her  gay  insouciance  was  ably  supplemented  by 
her  cool  self-certainty  and  delightfully  modulated 
reading,  to  moments  of  tumultuous  intensity,  in  which 
she  literally  brought  the  house  forward  in  its  seat  by 
the  magic  of  her  art. 

"Miss  Latham  is  a  consummate  actress.  The  sure 
way  in  which  she  grappled  with  the  tremendous 
moment  which  prefaced  the  third  act  curtain  proved 
that  beyond  argument  or  doubt.  More  than  all  else 
that  scene  sent  the  critical  portion  of  the  audience — 
'(already  mentioned  as  lovers  of  the  cultured  and 
refined  in  art) — home  shaking  their  heads,  a  little 
in  wonder,  a  little  in  amaze.  And  while  it  is  not  the 
Gazette's  wish  to  deplore  the  success  of  our  well- 
known  townsman,  Mr.  Latham,  in  matters  commer 
cial,  we  too  shake  our  heads,  not  only  in  wonder, 
but  a  little  with  regret  as  well.  Adversity  was  ever 
the  lash  which  has  spurred  genius  on  to  greater 
efforts.  It  is  our  unreserved  opinion  that  Miss 
Latham,  in  other  less  happy  circumstances,  would 
have  been  one  of  the  premier  actresses  of  our  day. 

"But  it  must  not  be  inferred  from  this  account, 
devoted  perhaps  too  enthusiastically  so  far  to  the 
personal  triumph  of  the  lead,  that  the  rest  of  her 
supporting  cast  was  far  behind  her,  either  In  natural 


I3o  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

ability  or  sincerity  of  effort.  Indeed,  the  opposite  is 
the  case.  For  Miss  Bennett,  in  the  part  of  an 
ingenuous  Miss,  was  so  delicately  girlish,  and  yet  so 
earnest  withal,  that  each  moment  while  she  was 
absent  from  the  picture  she  was  missed. 

".  .  .  And  with  those  who  came  to  be  amused, 
those  who  came  to  be  swayed  by  pathos  and  bathos 
alike,  the  Gazette  laughed — laughed  until  its 
collective  sides  ached,  and  also  wiped  away  a 
surreptitious  tear.  Mr.  Lloyd  Jameson,  son  of  our 
eminent  legal  authority,  has  long  enjoyed  a 
reputation  as  the  gay  Lothario  of  Warchester's 
younger  set,  but  it  remained  for  last  night  to  clinch 
his  claim  to  the  title.  Time  after  time  the  other 
actors  had  to  hold  their  lines,  while  the  audience 
rocked  with  mirth  over  his  inimitable  bits  of  business, 
for  he  gave  full  rein  to  his  spirit  of  drollery.  And 
yet  more  than  one  bright  eye  grew  dim,  more  than 
one  feminine  heart  was  thrilled  by  his  impassioned 
rendition  of  scenes  of  greater  tenderness.  No  one 
who  listened  could  very  well  blame  the  leading  lady 
for  being  swept  off  her  feet,  as  she  was,  of  course,  to 
achieve  the  happy  ending  which,  perhaps  too  arbi 
trarily,  our  present-day  audiences  demand.  There 
were  many  present  who  no  doubt  envied  her  that 
scene  and  forgot  temporarily  that  it  was  only  make- 
believe.  The  key-note  of  Mr.  Jameson's  performance 
was  its  abandonment  and  spontaneity. 

".  .    .  Due  credit  and  unlimited  thanks  is  extended 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION     131 

to  Mr.  Sidney  Banks,  whose  name  appears  upon  the 
program  as  the  director  of  the  piece.  Mr.  Banks, 
whose  timely  return  to  Warchester  was  a  bit  of  great 
good  luck,  brought  to  bear  a  knowledge  of  matters 
theatrical  too  well-known  to  call  for  comment.  The 
demonstration  of  his  knowledge  was  a  distinct 
pleasure." 

In  closing,  Mr.  Wainwright  mentioned  again  the 
lights  and  the  swirling  throng,  "the  seemingly  endless 
string  of  conveyances  which  whisked  away,  one  by 
one,  the  members  of  the  cast  who,  still  in  costume  and 
make-up,  surrounded  the  hosts  of  congratulatory 
friends,  were  the  center  of  a  colorful  picture — a 
picture  of  hope  and  youth  and  romance  that  made 
another  drama  which  took  place  scarcely  an  hour 
later,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  Palace  Theater, 
seem  wofully  drab  and  pitifully  sordid  by  contrast. 

"For  this  drama  of  viciousness  staged  behind  the 
scenes  of  respectability,  was  enacted  as  well  by  the 
youth  of  Warchester,  its  arch-figure  being  all  too  well 
known  to  the  citizenry  of  this  town.  A  detailed 
account  will  be  found  in  another  column." 

That  concluding  paragraph  cost  Mr.  Wainwright 
more  than  a  little  thought  and  indecision,  but  the 
general  avidity  with  which  every  Gazette  reader 
folded  back  the  sheet  the  next  morning  more  than 
vindicated  his  resolve  to  run  it  as  first  conceived. 
There  was  less  of  verbiage  in  this  second  article,  less 
of  flowery  adornment.  Under  its  introductory  black 


132  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

type  it  stretched,  a  bald,  bleak  statement  of  fact. 
"At  an  early  hour  this  morning  Hanlon's  Hotel — 
better  known  as  Pegleg's  Place — was  raided  by  an 
efficient  squad  of  Warchester's  guardians  of  law  and 
order.  For  a  long  time  now  proprietors  of  Hanlon's 
ilk  have  been  basking  in  false  security,  laughing  no 
doubt  up  their  sleeves  at  competitors  too  honest  to 
infringe  upon  the  statutes,  secure  in  their  confidence 
of  continued  immunity.  But  the  time  has  come  when 
this  sort  of  an  affront  to  public  opinion  and  public 
morals  will  not  be  further  tolerated.  It  has  been 
forced  upon  the  attention  of  many  of.  our  most 
inflential  and  powerful  citizens  that  either  the  present 
administration  has  not  the  courage  to.  cope  with  the 
forces  of  depravity  and  crime,  or  else  (a  condition 
which  we  would  prefer  to  believe  unthinkable) 
deliberately  chooses  not  to  do  so,  lest  it  antagonize 
a  class  which  is  not  to  be  scorned  at  the  polls.  In 
either  eventuality  it  is  plain,  and  has  long  been  plain, 
that  there  is  no  halfway  possible ;  half-hearted 
measures  will  not  suffice.  The  columns  of  the  Gazette 
have  already  quoted  the  remarks  of  Mr.  T.  E. 
Banks,  our  ablest  townsman,  upon  this  question.  His 
words  were  clear  and  unequivocal.  Now,  as 
president  of  Warchester's  new  Civic  Reform  Society, 
he  has  begun  to  back  up  his  words  with  deeds — deeds 
which  can  leave  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  all  con 
cerned  that  his  is  a  fixed  and  courageous  purpose 
which  will  brook  no  opposition. 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION     133 

"Hanlon's  was  raided  last  night  at  twelve-thirty 
o'clock.  Twelve  o'clock  has  long  been  prescribed  as 
the  closing  hour  for  such  places  as  Hanlon's  is  known 
to  be.  For  several  weeks  Mr.  Banks  has  caused  this 
house  and  several  others  of  like  repute  to  be  subjected 
to  a  rigorous  system  of  surveillance,  and  last  night 
Chief  of  Police  Hendricks,  sure  finally  of  his  ground, 
struck  a  swift  and  telling  blow.  Creeping  cautiously 
down  the  alley  which  leads  past  the  stage-door  of  the 
Palace  Theater,  the  officers  made  their  entrance 
through  the  front  of  the  building  ready  to  curb 
resistance  or  quell  any  attempt  to  warn  the  inmates. 
No  resistance,  however,  was  encountered.  Instead 
all  presented  an  air  of  serenity  which  might  have 
deceived  one  less  versed  in  the  craft  of  those  with 
whom  he  had  to  deal. 

"But  Chief  Hendricks  saw  beneath  the  innocent 
surface  indications  and  pressed  deeper  into  the  build 
ing.  Characteristically  reticent,  he  refused  to  go 
into  detail  concerning  the  capture  of  nine  men  and 
women,  all  of  undesirable  or  suspicious  character, 
who  fell  into  his  dragnet,  or  the  scene  of  violence 
which  his  arrival  surprised.  But  it  is  hinted  that  his 
appearance  checked  a  disturbance  which  might  have 
been  entered  upon  the  records  as  a  misdemeanor  far 
graver  than  an  infringement  against  the  excise  laws 
or  the  statutes  prohibiting  gambling — bloodshed  at 
least,  and  perhaps  uglier  manslaughter. 

"Three  of  the  women  and  the  five  men  were  given 


i34  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

an  immediate  hearing  before  Justice  Jameson  and 
dealt  with  according  to  the  discretion  of  the  court. 
A  member  of  the  Palace  Theater  Burlesque  Company 
— a  girl  who  it  appears  is  known  by  no  other  name 
than  Melody — is  being  held  on  bail,  supplied  by 
Hanlon,  pending  further  examination,  while  the 
police  are  searching  widely  for  one  Whitey  Garritty, 
well  known  to  the  police  of  other  cities,  whom  he  also 
had  eluded  before  running  foul  of  Warchester's 
force. 

"Out  of  respect  and  consideration  for  a  promi 
nent  divine  of  this  community  it  was  our  thought  to 
withhold  from  the  list  of  prisoners  given  below  the 
name  of  James  Gordon,  but  the  boy's  stepfather,  the 
Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  called  to  the  telephone 
shortly  before  our  going  to  press,  assured  us  that  such 
was  not  his  desire. 

"I  have  identified  myself  with  this  movement/" 
were  Mr.  Duncan's  words.  "It  is  a  righteous  move 
ment — and  I  mean  to  go  on  with  it.  It  will  bring  no 
hardship  upon  the  innocent,  but  those  who  have 
sinned  must  lie  in  the  beds  they  have  themselves 
prepared.  I  no  longer  know  any  person  by  the  name 
of  James  Gordon." 

"The  case  of  young  Mr.  Gordon  (he  has  not  yet 
reached  his  majority  in  years,  though  his  experience 
is  age-old)  had  not  beefi  disposed  of  when  this  issue 
went  to  press,  so  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  say  what 
disposition  was  made  of  it.  Toward  him,  however, 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION     135 

it  must  be  remarked,  Justice  Jameson  dealt  with 
great  forbearance  and  self-restraint,  an  attitude  little 
merited  by  Gordon,  though  much  to  Mr.  Jameson's 
credit.  For  the  young  man  in  question  maintained  a 
sullen  silence  throughout  his  examination,  refusing 
to  answer  the  questions  which  were  put  to  him,  or  to 
enter  any  plea  in  his  own  behalf.  He  stood  white 
and  tight-lipped,  as  stubborn  as  the  most  hardened 
malefactor,  and  opened  his  mouth  just  once.  When 
the  girl  called  Melody,  seemingly  unable  longer  to 
control  herself,  leaped  forward  in  the  midst  of  the 
lesson  which  Justice  Jameson  was  reading  Gordon 
concerning  the  error  of  his  ways,  apparently  to 
interject  some  defense  of  this  young  man  whom  she 
appeared  to  champion  with  almost  possessive 
ferocity,  his  studied  silence  was  broken.  He  threw 
up  a  hand  with  a  smile  so  mild  that  it  bordered  on  the 
insolent  and  checked  the  girl's  misguided  though 
no  doubt  generous  impulse.  "Don't!"  he  ordered 
her.  "What's  the  use,  now?" 

"And  these  words  the  Gazette  heartily  echoes. 
This  boy,  kin  of  many  of  our  best  people,  heir  to 
countless  advantages,  has  squandered  every  chance 
which  was  his  by  birth — every  claim  to  pity  and 
further  consideration.  The  Gazette  echoes  his  own 
words:  "What's  the  use,  now?"  Whatever  the 
course  of  the  law,  it  cannot  be  too  rigorous  in  the 
case  of  James  Gordon." 

And  the  arch-figure  himself,   at  seven-thirty  the 


136  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

night  before,  little  realizing  how  prominently  he  was 
to  share  the  public  prints  with  her  whose  appearance 
he  was  awaiting,  lay  back  in  the  shelter  of  his  heap  of 
discarded  scenery,  numb  to  bodily  discomfort,  cheer 
fully  unaware  even  of  the  passage  of  time  until  her 
electric  drew  up  at  the  curb. 

All  other  perplexities,  some  of  them  pressing,  he 
had  put  away  from  him  for  the  time  being,  just  as 
before  then,  he  had  many  times  put  the  thought  of 
hunger  away  from  him,  since  there  was  no  immediate 
prospect  of  dining.  And  when  she  finally  arrived, 
before  the  press  at  the  front  of  the  house  had 
become  considerable,  he,  too,  noted  how  the  light  lay 
reflected  about  her  feet  like  pools  of  phosphores 
cence.  And  though  his  brain  was  promptly  rendered 
incapable  of  Wainwright's  poetic  appreciation  of  the 
tinsel  and  glitter  of  the  costumes,  her  wrap  he  dared 
to  reach  out  and  touch  as  she  passed  his  hiding- 
place.  The  brush  of  that  velvet  cloak  left  his  arm 
a-tingle. 

Secure  in  his  intimacy  with  Abel  Thompson,  whose 
own  garb  that  evening  would  have  lent  tone  to  any 
gathering  (it  consisted  of  a  dress  coat,  a  lavender 
waistcoat,  light  trousers  and  high  brown  button 
boots) ,  he  had  put  away  from  him,  earlier  in  the  day, 
the  thought  of  squandering  a  quarter  for  a  gallery 
seat,  together  with  the  fear  that  he  might  have  to 
watch  from  a  seat  far  removed  from  her  neighbor 
hood.  "Back-stage"  had  always  been  open  to  him 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION     137 

without  comment  or  question,  and  as  expected,  Abel 
passed  him  into  that  restricted  province,  but  not 
without  a  moment  of  hesitation,  however,  for  the 
boy,  wet  and  bedraggled,  looked  anything  bui; 
prepossessing,  even  to  Abel's  ordinarily  none  too 
fastidious  eye.  It  called  forth  a  deal  of  anxiety  and 
a  word  or  two  of  warning  advice. 

"Nobody  ain't  goin'  see  you  in  back  'at  ole  book 
case."  Abel  accompanied  his  hiding  away  with  an 
argument  meant  to  quiet  his  own  doubts.  "But  you 
bet'  stick  pretty  close.  Ev'thing  got  look  'spectable, 
'n'  if  anybody  git  a  look  at  you  they  sure  goin'  to 
blame  me." 

Jimmy  did  not  even  give  way  to  his  crooked  grin. 
The  unconscious  classification  passed  over  his  head, 
which  was  indication  of  his  mood  at  that  moment. 
Instead,  he  obeyed  thankfully,  and  "stuck  close,"  as 
he  was  bidden.  And  Mr.  Wainwright,  sitting  out  in 
front  with  his  notebook  and  pencil  carefully 
displayed,  was  favored  by  no  more  perfect  view  of 
the  stage  than  was  Jimmy  when  the  curtain  creaked 
up. 

Those  who  had  come  to  weigh  the  niceties  of 
technique!  Those  who  had  come  merely  to  be 
amused!  Theirs  was  a  poor  and  meager  interest 
compared  with  the  boy's.  From  that  instant  when 
Evelyn  Latham  made  her  first  appearance,  his  heart 
palpitated  painfully,  quick  with  worship  for  that 
quality  which  Wainwright  named  her  gay 


i38  HIS  (OWN  HOME  TOWN 

insouciance,  sick  with  dread  lest  she  falter  and  be 
met  with  ridicule. 

In  other  circumstances  he  might  have  frowned  a 
little  over  a  certain  stiffness  of  gesture  or  shaken  his 
head  vaguely  for  a  certain  lack  of  warmth.  He  had 
absorbed  even  more  than  he  himself  realized  from 
the  harassed  managers  who  came  to  Warchester  to 
try  out  new  productions.  But  in  that  hour  he  found 
nothing  to  criticize,  or  if  he  did  the  thought  was 
denied  life  the  moment  it  was  born. 

He  saw  little  of  the  rest  of  the  action;  he  heard 
scarce  a  line  of  dialogue  other  than  those  which  she 
spoke;  and  when  the  first  act  curtain  fell,  in  spite  of 
Abel's  warning,  the  space  behind  the  bookcase  was 
too  small  to  hold  both  him  and  his  swelling  pride.  In 
concert  with  a  large  portion  of  the  male  audience  out 
in  front,  which  had  risen  and  was  climbing  painfully 
over  neighbors'  knees  (Warchester  audiences 
adhered  to  metropolitan  customs,  no  matter  how 
uncomfortable),  he  crept  from  behind  his  cover, 
after  the  actors  had  run  for  the  dressing-rooms  and 
the  scene-shifters'  hubbub  was  on,  and  picked  his 
way  into  the  alley. 

It  was  still  raining,  and  he  sought  his  earlier 
shelter,  with  little  thought  of  what  he  was  doing, 
however,  for  his  own  play,  lying  beside  his  typewriter 
in  his  room  at  Hanlon's,  was  no  longer  a  discarded, 
or  even  partially  discredited,  failure.  It  had  become 
once  more,  temporarily,  at  least,  a  satisfactory  foun- 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION     139 

dation  for  dreams,  and  he  had  flung  away  one 
cigarette  to  hiss  out  on  the  flooded  pavement,  and 
was  puffing  a  second,  when  voices  near  at  hand 
disturbed  his  deep  content — voices  engaged  in  a 
colloquy  old  in  his  ears  and  without  interest,  save 
that  his  instant  recognition  of  both  of  them  left  him 
momentarily  incredible. 

"I  never  was  so  strong  for  that  joint,"  he  heard 
the  girl  called  Melody  express  decidedly  her  dis 
approval  of  a  New  York  cafe  under  discussion. 
"Too  stiff !  That  full-dress  regulation  never  did  get 
by.  Give  me  Henry's  every  time.  Maybe  some  nights 
the  boys  did  get  rough,  along  toward  morning,  but 
they  was  always  something  doing,  and  nobody  ever 
got  hurt  real  bad.  Been  to  Henry's,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes-s-s,  I  think  so."  Sidney's  voice,  in  reply, 
lacked  that  absolute  complacency  which  usually 
marked  it  when  he  discussed  Manhattan.  "Of  course, 
though,  I  don't  seem  quite  able  to  recall " 

The  girl  cut  in  with  a  flattering,  meaningful  laugh. 

"I  get  you,"  she  exclaimed.  "Most  everybody 
who  goes  to  Henry's  ain't  quite  able  to  recall — that 
is,  not  until  the  morning  after.  Most  of  the  good 
Indians  I  know  like  Henry's — most  of  the  regulars, 
that  is — and  if  he  ain't  a  regular  he  don't  get  a  table. 
This  is  a  dreadful  slow  town,  ain't  it?  I  haven't 
been  here  long — just  long  enough  to  find  out  that 
there  isn't  a  half  dozen  live  ones  in  the  whole  burg." 

Jimmy  put  aside  his  dreams,  just  as  methodically 


1 40  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

as  he  cupped  one  palm  over  his  cigarette,  to  hide  its 
point  of  light,  and  gave  himself  over,  reluctantly,  to 
listening.  He  placed  Melody  now,  without  difficulty 
or  awkward  embarrassment.  She  had  a  reputation; 
she  was  a  fire-brand  and  a  trouble-maker.  And 
there  was  a  note  of  throaty  "elegance"  in  her  voice 
now,  an  obvious  effort  to  be  "genteel,"  which  made 
her  conversation  different  from  the  idle  chatter 
which  anyone  who  cared  to  listen  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Hanlon's  was  always  certain  to  hear. 

Her  observation  brought  instant  agreement  from 
Sidney.  He  was  more  himself  again.  His  laughter 
was  light  and  disparaging. 

"Dead!  My  dear,  this  town  has  had  the  sleeping 
sickness  ever  since  birth."  He  stopped  to  contem 
plate  this  statement,  and  found  it  pleasing.  "But  there 
are  a  few  live  ones  in  it,  at  that — just  about  a  half 
dozen,  as  you  say.  And,  of  course,  there's — there's 
no  place  in  town  like  Henry's,  but  if  you've  got  a 
friend — yesterday  you  suggested —  How  would  you 
like  to  have  something  to  eat  after  the  show?  There's 
a  friend  of  mine " 

At  that  Jimmy  realized  that  this  was  not  a 
merely  casual  meeting.  Rehearsal  had  brought 
Sidney  to  the  vicinity  of  Hanlon's  the  day  before, 
while  Jimmy  lay  asleep. 

"I'd  be  real  pleased,"  Melody  answered.  "We'll 
wait  for  you  after  the  curtain.  We're  settin'  out  in 
front,  trying  to  keep  from  havin'  hysterics,  so's  the 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION    141 

usher  won't  lead  us  gently  outside,  before  it's  finished. 
My,  ain't  the  leadin'  woman  a  scream!" 

"It — it's  rather  amateurish,  I  suppose,"  Sidney 
admitted  a  little  stiffly.  "I — I'm  supposed  to  be  the 
director,  but " 

Jimmy  could  see  his  cousin's  face  plainly  for  a 
second  against  the  light  of  the  open  door.  Melody's 
slight  figure,  closer  to  him,  was  not  so  easy  to  make 
out.  But  she  was  quick  to  perceive  and  cover  her 
slip. 

"You've  done  wonders,"  she  established  her 
opinion  stoutly.  "Wonders !  That's  what  Rose  says 
to  me — she's  my  lady  friend — just  before  the  end  of 
the  act.  Why,  she  says  they  wouldn't  'a'  been  no 
show  at  all  without  the  directin'.  And  Rose  ought 
to  know.  She  was  in  the  beauty  ballet  two  months  on 
the  Roof.  Well,  you've  got  enough  on  your  hands 
with  that  mob.  See  you  later?" 

Sidney  nodded  as  he  was  entering  the  theater. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  get  away,"  he  called  in  a  hushed 
voice.  "They — they're  waiting  for  me  now." 

Jimmy  took  one  step  after  the  girl  as  she  scudded 
past  him,  holding  her  atrocity  of  a  hat  against  her  so 
that  the  feather  might  not  be  ruined  by  the  rain,  but 
he  thought  better  of  the  impulse  before  she  had  seen 
or  heard  him.  The  objection  which  he  might  have 
obtruded  was  too  vague  to  be  put  into  words. 

But  as  he  watched  the  further  unfolding  of  the  plot 
during  the  second  act,  from  behind  his  bookcase 


1 42  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

shield,  a  position  regained  with  some  difficulty  and 
an  added  admonition  from  Abel,  he  found  it  difficult 
to  keep  his  attention  from  wandering.  And  during 
the  next  intermission  he  puzzled  over  the  problem 
without  seeking  the  open  air.  It  was  at  worst  only  a 
harmless,  foolish  encounter — and  yet,  again  and 
again,  he  rejected  that  view  as  inadequate. 

All  that  Hanlon  had  said  earlier  in  the  day  con 
cerning  the  hotel  which  bore  his  name,  the  boy  knew 
to  be  the  truth.  It  was  clean  and  orderly  and  honest. 
But  there  was  much  which  had  been  left  unsaid 
concerning  those  who  patronized  it.  Their  very 
presence  made  it  no  place  for  amateur  wickedness, 
such  as  Sidney's.  He  told  himself  that  doubtless 
Sidney's  escapade  did  not  include  Pegleg's  as  a 
supper  place,  but  recollection  of  the  guile  in  Melody's 
voice  bothered  him.  A  few  minutes  later  he  reached 
out  and  detained  the  gentleman  of  color  who  was 
flying  past,  agleam  with  the  heat  and  giddy  with  his 
sense  of  authority. 

A  word  would  not  have  checked  Abel's  passage  in 
the  slightest  degree.  Jimmy  held  fast  to  the  skirt 
of  the  precious  dress  coat  while  he  talked. 

"Where's  Pegleg  to-night?"  he  asked. 

"How  I  know?"  he  demanded  testily,  and  strained 
tentatively  on  the  coat.  "How  I  know  where  white 
folks  spend  they  evenin's!  Leggo  my  coat,  Jimmy. 
Now  look !  Din'  I  know  they  wouldn't  get  'at  table 
in  'ithout  bustin'  somethin'." 


143 

But  Jimmy  failed  to  heed  his  captive's  fluttering 
to  be  free. 

uDo  you  know  whether  he's  going  to  be  around 
to-night?" 

Thereupon  Abel  put  his  mind  upon  the  formulation 
of  a  suitable  reply,  since  upon  that  depended  his 
release. 

"He  am'  never  'roun'  now  nights  twell  two  or 
three  in  the  mawnin',"  he  stated.  "Din'  I  tole  you 
he's  out  'lectioneerin'  ?" 

Jimmy  let  him  go. 

All  the  boy's  breathlessness  was  gone  as  he 
watched  Evelyn  Latham  through  the  third  and  last 
act,  though  her  conception  of  the  emotional  third  act 
curtain  was  not  responsible  for  the  frown  upon  his 
forehead. 

Yet  he  waited  outside  in  the  alley  until  the  cast 
had  gone  tripping  by,  chattering  together 
unintelligibly;  he  waited  until  the  last  "equipage  in 
the  seemingly  endless  string  of  conveyances  had 
borne  away  the  swirling  throng."  And  Melody  and 
her  companion,  Rose,  cautiously  joined  by  Sidney  and 
Lloyd  Jameson  at  the  stage  door,  had  preceded  him 
by  almost  an  hour,  when  he  realized  that  the  rain 
was  cold  upon  his  head.  He  had  bared  it  when 
Evelyn  passed  him  on  the  way  to  her  car.  He  had 
been  standing  there  longer  than  he  knew,  forgetting 
even  to  replace  his  cap. 

The  faint,  familiar  stoop  in  his  shoulders  was 


144  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

more  pronuonced  than  usual  as  he  approached  the 
square  brick  hotel  in  the  angle  of  the  block  and  the 
river.  Grave  and  preoccupied  of  face,  he  shook  the 
clerk  behind  the  desk  into  partial  wakefulness.  To 
Jimmy's  suggestion  that  it  was  after  closing  time  that 
supercilious  one  opened  sluggish  lids  to  see  who 
might  be  the  innocent-hearted  purveyor  of  such  a 
piece  of  news. 

"Who  t' "  he  began,  and  then,  recognizing 

the  boy,  he  grinned.  "  'Lo,  Jimmy,"  he  said. 
"Closing  time,  eh?  Oh,  my;  oh,  my!  If  I  ain't 
went  and  forgot  that  again  I"  Thereupon  his  voice 
became  matter-of-fact  and  businesslike;  indeed,  not 
unlike  that  of  T.  E.  Banks  when  the  latter  spoke  on 
home  trade.  "They's  a  little  game  goin'  on  in  the 
back  room,"  he  explained.  "A  couple  of  your  swell 
young  friends  from  up  on  the  hill  are  giving  the 
party.  Melody  steered  'em  in." 

Jimmy  left  him  before  the  explanation  was 
finished.  He  passed  on  to  the  larger  room  in  which 
he  had  breakfasted  that  morning  with  Hanlon. 
This  was  deserted,  but  down  the  long  hall  that  led 
to  the  rear  of  the  house  an  edge  of  light  showed 
beneath  a  door. 

With  his  hand  upon  the  knob  he  hesitated;  when 
he  tried  the  door,  gently,  he  found  it  locked.  But  the 
key  rattled  at  the  first  sound  his  effort  made.  The 
door  opened  a  crack;  and  then  the  waiter,  who 
looked  flabby,  stepped  back  and  motioned  the  boy 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION      145 

to  enter.  There  was  a  slight  twitch  at  the  corners 
of  the  waiter's  lips,  as  though  he  wanted  to  laugh. 

The  eyes  of  every  person  in  the  room  swung  to 
.meet  him  as  Jimmy  closed  the  door,  furtive  or  defiant 
as  the  sex  might  be.  Recognizing  him,  they  turned 
away  again,  casually  welcoming,  bent  upon  giving 
their  undivided  attention  to  matters  more  remunera 
tive.  Only  Sidney  and  Lloyd  Jameson  and  the  girl, 
Melody,  continued  to  stare.  The  faces  of  the  first 
two  were  somewhat  stricken  for  a  breath ;  and  then, 
before  Jimmy's  utter  disinterestedness  and  calm 
acceptance  of  their  presence,  Sidney  drew  one  eyelid 
close.  He  motioned  to  the  deck  of  cards  which  he 
held,  and  the  chips  upon  the  table. 

"Little  game,  Jimmy,  old  top."  He  spoke  with  a 
cordiality  hitherto  foreign  to  him ;  his  air  was  rollick 
ing,  but  his  chin  quivered  and  betrayed  him.  "Luck's 
been  running  with  the  house.  Want  to  sit  in  and  help 
retrieve  the  honor  of  the  family?" 

Jimmy  shook  his  head. 

"Broke !"  he  stated  laconically,  and  from  him  the 
word  was  apparently  an  acceptable  joke,  for  a  burst 
of  laughter  greeted  it.  But  the  mirth  was  not  quite 
easy.  It  sounded  too  forced  to  be  convincing. 
Whitey  Garritty,  seated  on  the  far  side  of  the  table, 
behind  a  barrier  of  chips,  curled  his  lip  and  spat,  and 
centered  his  pale  gaze  upon  Sidney. 

"This  is  no  game  for  amateurs.  Shoot  'em, 
Sport.  Your  deal!" 


i46  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

The  girls  were  not  playing.  Rose  was  sitting  at 
Lloyd  Jameson's  shoulder,  and  Melody,  perched 
upon  the  arm  of  Sidney's  chair,  had  been  chiding 
him  for  his  bad  luck  and  watching  his  cards  with 
bright  eyes.  She  remained  in  that  position,  but  her 
flow  of  banter  ceased  with  Jimmy's  coming.  And 
her  smile  became  rigid  and  fixed.  Whenever  he 
raised  his  head  Jimmy  found  her  eyes  upon  his  face, 
troubled  and  mutely  questioning.  He  turned  away 
to  avoid  that  gleam,  and  found  the  waiter  watching 
him,  too.  The  waiter  he  questioned  under  his 
breath. 

"Hanlon  back  yet?"  he  asked. 

Every  ear  listened  while  the  waiter  made  answer, 
but  Jimmy,  if  he  noticed,  feigned  not  to  have  seen. 
Unconcerned  to  the  point  of  indifference,  he  gave 
himself  over  to  watching  the  game,  standing  a  yard 
or  two  behind  Sidney's  back. 

The  change  which  came  over  that  back  room  came 
slowly.  The  laughter  ceased  first,  and  then  the 
comment,  jocular  or  peevish,  as  the  case  might  be, 
which  had  accompanied  the  playing  of  each,  and 
men  began  to  eye  each  other  from  the  corners  of 
their  eyes,  and  turned  toward  Jimmy  not  at  all. 

In  his  cousin's  face  Jimmy  had  read  the  extent  of 
Sidney's  losses  the  moment  he  entered  the  room.  In 
spite  of  an  effort  to  maintain  an  air  of  gaiety,  Sidney's 
face  was  sick  and  gray.  He  was  worrying  far  more 
over  the  markers  out  against  him  than  were  those 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION       147 

who  held  them.  For  these  latter  knew  how  sure 
collections  would  be,  even  though  the  operation  might 
be  accompanied  by  a  little  delay  and  a  certain  sort  of 
unpleasantness. 

But  now  Sidney  was  the  on*y  one  who  laughed. 
His  enjoyment  of  the  game  became  boisterous,  and 
with  the  change  of  luck,  which  veered  suddenly  his 
way,  Whitey  Garritty's  equanimity  began  to  suffer. 
Jimmy  felt  the  latter's  ugly  gaze  upon  his  face. 
Sidney  won,  and  won  again.  Melody's  eyes  were 
black  with  fear.  And  then,  with  the  room  grown 
deadly  quiet,  Garritty  rose  and  beat  upon  the  table 
with  his  slim  white  hand.  Sidney  had  just  laid  down 
a  flush  that  beat  his  aces  three. 

"Where  in  hell  are  your  eyes?"  Whitey  grated  at 
the  girl,  and,  as  she  shrank  back,  he  whirled  and 
motioned  Jimmy  to  a  chair  with  a  jerky  gesture.  "Sit 
down,"  he  snarled.  "If  you  aren't  going  to  sit  in, 
sit  down." 

Jimmy's  mild  drawl  answered  him. 

"Her  eyes  are  all  right,  Garritty,"  he  said.  "She 
was  watching.  How  do  you  suppose  she's  going  to 
flash  to  you  what  he's  holding  when  she  knows  I'm 
watching  her?" 

The  girl  quivered  as  though  she  had  been  struck. 
Men  lurched  to  their  feet  and  drew  back  against  the 
wall.  Rose  whimpered  and  leaped,  and  the  sleazy 
material  of  her  skirt  caught  and  ripped  upon  a 
splinter  on  the  chair.  Sidney  sat  with  his  mouth 


i48  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

open;  Lloyd  Jameson  gulped  aloud  with  joy,  for  to 
him  the  interference  meant  nothing  yet,  but  a  solu 
tion  of  a  distressing  financial  muddle.  And  only  the 
waiter  failed  to  move.  He  knew  his  time  for  action 
had  come  and  gone  minutes  before. 

Now  Garritty  leaned  across  the  table.  It  seemed 
that  it  had  been  quiet  for  hours.  And  then  Jimmy 
was  speaking  again,  slowly  and  distinctly. 

"If  you're  going  to  get  any  more  to-night, 
Garritty,"  he  said,  "you'll  need  the  cold  deck  in  your 
pocket." 

With  that  Garritty's  hand  went  crawling  behind 
him,  and  came  crawling  back.  Jimmy's  lean  face 
looked  haggard,  but  his  crooked  grin  arched  his  lips. 
And  then  the  door  which  led  into  the  long  hall  leaped 
convulsively.  With  the  first  blow  that  set  it  to  vibrat 
ing  upon  its  hinges  the  fear  was  gone  from  Melody's 
eyes.  She  lifted  a  chair  and  swung  it  with  thin  arms 
that  bent  like  steel,  and  whipped  it  across  the  table 
into  Garritty's  face.  Garritty  went  down.  Tumult 
within  rose  above  the  tumult  without,  and  drowned 
Chief  Hendricks'  first  bellow  for  admittance.  A 
shot  spattered  the  plaster  off  the  ceiling  as  Garritty 
went  down.  A  woman  screamed.  When  the  waiter 
snapped  off  the  lights  and  ripped  open  another  door 
Jimmy  dragged  his  cousin  Sidney  and  Lloyd  Jameson 
from  beneath  the  table  and  jammed  them  before 
him  into  a  passageway  which  led  to  the  open  air. 

And  then  the  lights  were  up  again. 


SEASON'S  SMARTEST  FUNCTION      149 

"Steady,  you!"  A  voice  warned  the  boy.  He 
closed  the  door  upon  the  pair's  retreat  and  turned 
back  into  the  room. 

Jimmy  was  blinking  as  he  faced  the  light.  The 
eyes  of  Melody  were  clinging  to  him.  And  she  was 
the  only  one  of  them  all,  jaunty  or  sullen  as  the  sex 
might  be,  who  attempted  an  explanation.  Her  fierce 
outburst  an  officer  checked  with  an  expert  twist  of  her 
wrist,  which  made  the  bone  crunch  and  brought  her 
with  a  moan  to  her  knees. 

Hendricks,  Warchester's  Chief  of  Police,  counted 
them  off. 

"Nine,"  he  grunted  succinctly.  The  crash  of  glass 
and  a  shivered  window  accounted  for  Whitey 
Garritty's  escape.  "Take  them  out  to  the  wagon." 


CHAPTER  X 

ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE 

DAWN  was  but  a  gray  promise  in  the  east  when 
Pegleg  Hanlon  raised  his  grizzled  head  and 
shook  it,  weary  from   argument  and  self- 
revilcment.     It  was  an  hour  since  he  had  begun  to 
talk  to  the  bowed  figure  opposite  him,  and  nothing 
had  been  accomplished  by  his  effort  save  that  the 
gruffiness  was  gone  from  his  own  voice  as  he  set 
himself  to  try  again. 

"Ye  could  have  got  away  yerself,"  he  said  gently. 
"Why  didn't  ye?" 

Jimmy  shook  his  head  without  looking  up.  He 
had  not  looked  up  even  once  since  he  and  Hanlon 
had  entered  the  room.  And  his  voice  was  dull,  as 
though  he,  too,  was  too  weary  from  fruitless 
discussion  to  carry  the  argument  further. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.    "I  don't  know." 

"Why  did  ye  interfere  in  the  first  place?"  Hanlon 
persisted.  "Ye  knew  that  'twas  none  of  your  affair 
— 'twas  not  accordin'  to  the  code." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy. 

"It  was  too  raw  for  ye  to  stomach,  eh?  Was  that 
it?  Gawd,  and  it  was  raw,  too!  She  told  me — the 
girl — how  they  framed  the  pair  av  thim." 

150 


[ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE         151 

"I  heard,"  said  Jimmy.  "Part  of  it.  That's  why 
I  interfered,  I  guess,  even  when  I  knew  it  was  no 
business  of  mine."  Suddenly  his  head  came  up,  and 
his  voice  was  no  longer  muffled.  "Who  wants  to 
stand  by  and  see  a — a  pair  of  babies  trimmed?" 

"I  thought  so!"  exclaimed  Hanlon.  "I  thought 
so!  Ye  had  to  be  on  the  level!"  But  there  he 
abandoned  an  impulse  to  moralize.  "She  saved  ye 
at  that,"  he  went  on.  "Mike  says  Garrity'd  av  gave  it 
to  you — it  was  there  in  his  eyes.  She  saved  ye — and 
now  she's  upstairs  cryin'  her  eyes  out,  just  like  a 
dacint  girl,  because  ye  would  not  let  her  speak  to  the 
judge.  And  'twas  her  that  got  ye  into  the  trouble, 
Jimmy  bhoy." 

A  sort  of  vague  pity  for  a  conclusion  so  wild 
showed  in  Jimmy's  pale  eyes. 

"I  did  it  myself,"  he  contradicted  doggedly.  "I — 
I've  had  it  coming  to  me  for — for  months." 

It  was  the  same  twist  that  the  argument  had  taken 
time  and  time  before.  Hanlon  struck  the  paper  on 
the  table  before  him  a  mighty  blow  with  his  open 
hand. 

"The  hell  ye  have !"  he  roared.  "The  hell  ye  have  \ 
It's  too  late  now,  eh?"  His  fist  clenched  as  he 
quoted  bitterly  Mr.  Wainwright's  careful  phrases. 
"Whatever  the  course  av  the  law  may  be,  eh  ?  Then, 
by  God,  I'll  be  the  law  unto  this  affair.  Ye  followed 
thim  in  to  take  care  av  thim — they  who  have  crossed 
the  street  rather  than  pass  ye  on  the  same  side  av  the 


152  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

road.  Ye  shoved  thim  ahead  av  ye — and  got  it 
yerself!  Now,  Jimmy  bhoy,  I'm  askin'  ye  again, 
without  blasphemy  on  me  tongue — what  are  ye  going 
to  do?" 

Sudden,  bitter,  boyish  tears  of  rage  filled  Jimmy's 
eyes. 

"What  is  there  to  do?"  he  cried.  "You  sit  there 
and  ask  me  that  again.  You  know  better,  Pegleg. 
They  showed  me  that  they  didn't  want  me  here. 
They've  been  showing  me  that  for  years,  yet  I  came 
back  and  gave  them  another  chance.  And  now — now 
Jameson  has  given  me  twenty-four  hours  to  get  out 
of  town — twenty- four  hours !  That's  what  they  give 
to  vagrants,  Pegleg,  and  drunken  wrecks  that  it  does 
no  good  to  lock  up."  His  laughter  shrilled  high 
and  hysterical.  "Well,  I  don't  need  twenty-four 
hours.  I'm  going — and  going  now  1" 

Hanlon's  hard  face  grew  wondrous  tender.  Even 
fifty  years  was  a  short  time  in  which  to  have  acquired 
an  understanding  such  as  that.  He  reached  out  a 
rough  paw  as  if  to  touch  the  boy's  slack  hand,  and 
drew  it  back,  self-consciously. 

"Ye're  tellin'  me  nothing  that  I'm  not  afther 
knowin'  already,  lad,"  he  murmured.  "But  I'm 
tellin'  ye  something  that  ye  don't  seem  willing  to 
grasp.  Ye  don't  have  to  go — unless  ye  have  to !  Is 
that  what  ye  mean?" 

"I  have  to."  The  boy's  breath  sobbed  in  his 
throat. 


ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE        153 

" — Nobody's  talked,"  went  on  Pegleg  patiently. 
f,Tis  not  the  honorable  thing  among  thieves  and 
rogues  and  cutthroats  to  gossip  to  the  detriment  av 
the  life  and  liberty  av  a  colleague.  But  'tis  Hanlon 
who's  not  above  droppin'  a  word,  quiet  and  persuas 
ive  like,  in  the  ear  av  Justice  Jameson.  An'  he  would 
be  pleased  to  listen,  once  I  had  begun  my  little 
spache.  I'm  thinkin'  he  would  reconsider  his  verdict 
—no?" 

Violently  the  boy  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  refused.    "No— no!" 

"Ye  helped  thim  to  get  clear,"  Hanlon  persisted. 
"They  are  gintlemin,  and  their  repitations  would  not 
stand  the  strain  av  an  occurrence  such  as  last  night's. 
Ye  helped  thim  win  free,  and  so,  like  gintlemin, 
they've  stood  by  ye  and  shouldered  their  bit  av  the 
throuble — like  hell  they  have !" 

"I'd  have  got  it,  anyhow,  sooner  or  later."  Jimmy 
had  meant  to  argue  no  more,  but  he  tried  to  make  his 
point.  "It  isn't  that  I  don't  know  how  easy  it  would 
be  to — to  fix  it  up.  But  that's  all  it  would  be — just 
fixed !"  His  thin  face  flamed.  "I  don't  want  to  stay, 
that's  all.  I'm  not  running  away,  either,  because  I 
don't  dare  stay,  because  some  day  I'm  coming  back. 
But  now " 

"Not  because  ye  don't  dare  stay,"  Hanlon  echoed 
gravely.  And  he  rose  and  dropped  an  arm  about  the 
boy's  shoulders.  "I'm  thinkin'  I  understand.  'Tis 
action  wan  requires  in  anny  game,  an'  if  livin'  ain't 


i54  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

a  game,  what  is  it?  Ye're  grinnin',  are  ye?  Praise 
God,  'tis  yere  crooked  smile  wance  more.  I'm  sorry 
— I'll  miss  ye — I  had  need  av  ye  here.  But  I'll  leave 
the  latch-string  out  'gainst  yer  return.  Is  there — 

would  ye  now  be  afther  allowin'  me  to " 

And  in  truth  now  the  boy  was  smiling,  for  Hanlon's 
self-consciousness  was  a  painful,  purple  thing. 

"Even  you  haven't  the  face  to  say  it,"  Jimmy 
railed  at  him  unsteadily.  "I  dare  you  offer  to  lend 
me  money!" 

"I  am  a  bad  man,"  Hanlon  made  reply  irrelevantly. 
"Everybody  who  enjoys  a  better  repitation  says  so. 
And  ye  have  a  criminal  record !  Look  at  me,  lad  I 
iWill  ye  take  twenty — just  twenty?" 

Jimmy  shook  his  head. 

"Ten?" 

Again  an  almost  gleeful  refusal. 

"Five?" 

Hanlon  gave  it  up. 

"I  could  wish  that  ye'd  come  to  cruel  starvation," 
he  mourned,  "but  for  the  hungry  look  av  ye  at  this 
instant." 

They  stood  a  moment,  awkward  and  sentiment- 
shy.  Then  the  boy  reached  out  his  hand,  and 
Pegleg's  gnarled  fist  shot  out  and  swallowed  it. 

"I'll  leave  my  baggage,"  Jimmy  smiled  defiantly 
over  the  ancient  squib.  "I'm  in  arrears,  you  know." 

Hanlon  could  not  answer.  Angrily  he  tried  to 
clear  his  husky  throat.  But  the  boy  turned  back  from 


ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE        155 

the  doorway,  after  the  older  man  thought  he  had 
gone,  and  fumbled  in  his  pocket.  He  brought  out 
the  two-dollar  bill,  folded  to  a  knife-edge  crease — 
his  calamity  fund  which  he  carried  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket. 

"  'The  Satin  Slipper'  that  opens  here  next  week  . . . 
Dave  Landis'  daughter  . . ."  His  explanation,  begun 
carefully  enough,  went  totally  to  pieces.  Yet  Hanlon 
understood. 

"I  would  have  done  it  for  ye,  gladly,  but  I  know 
ye'd  have  it  no  other  way  than  this."  And  he 
accepted  the  money. 

Jimmy  nodded. 

"Roses,"  he  hesitated.  "Red  roses.  I  think — 
would  be — best.  You'll  not  be  able  to  buy  many — so 
maybe  just  one,  with  a  long  stem 

"I'll  care  for  it  for  ye,"  said  Hanlon. 

[And  then  the  boy  found  the  door  and  blundered 
through.  Main  Street  was  deserted  at  that  hour,  as 
was  the  broad  thoroughfare  which  led  from  it  to 
the  Union  Station  beyond  the  square.  The  boy  kept 
his  eyes  before  him  and  hurried  as  he  went.  He 
never  knew  just  when  the  yellow  Airedale  joined 
him.  Jimmy  had  reached  the  network  of  tracks;  a 
freight  had  hissed  up  to  the  water-tank  and  was 
drinking  thirstily  when  Oh  Boy  licked  his  hand.  At 
that  moment  Jimmy  found  it  hardest  to  smile. 

"Back,  Oh  Boy,"  he  ordered  the  dog,  who  was 
himself  a  wanderer.  "Back  home,  Oh  Boy!"  But 


-r$6  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

he  was  down  in  the  cinders  the  next  breath,  straining 
the  lean  and  bristly  body  against  him.  And  he  swayed 
as  he  rose  and  dusted  his  shiny  blue  serge  mechani 
cally  with  one  hand. 

An  accommodating  brakeman,  recognizing  him, 
turned  his  head  while  Jimmy  swung  himself  through 
the  door  of  an  empty  box-car.  The  Airedale  stood 
and  watched,  head  on  one  side,  one  ear  cocked 
hopefully,  until  the  caboose  was  only  a  blur  on  the 
horizon.  Then  he  turned  and  trotted  soberly  back 
up  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WARC HESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER 

SINCE  no  one  witnessed  the  boy's  departure,  it 
could  be  described  only  as  a  fact  which  had 
come  to  pass ;  and  this  the  Gazette  did  through 
the  able  sentences  of  Mr.  Wainwright.  And  his 
announcement,  bald  and  brief  and  unequivocal 
though  it  was,  that  Justice  Jameson's  behest  had  been 
obeyed,  was  welcome,  indeed,  to  one  reader  who  had 
been  waiting,  sick  with  apprehension,  for  the  sequel 
of  that  account  which  detailed  the  boy's  arrest. 

But  Carol  Landis  did  not  think  to  burn  with  shame 
for  him;  any  ignominious  side  which  the  occurrence 
might  have  seemed  to  possess  failed  to  occur  to  her. 
And  when  Pegleg  Hanlon,  several  hours  after 
Jimmy's  going  that  morning,  saw  the  girl  watching 
the  hotel  entrance  from  the  mouth  of  the  alley,  he 
joined  her  before  the  Palace  Theater  stage-door, 
uncertain  just  what  to  say.  The  next  moment  he  was 
thankful  and  more  than  a  little  surprised  to  hear  her 
express  gladness  when  he  had  admitted,  reluctantly, 
that  Jimmy  had  gone. 

She  asked  quite  simply  if  the  boy  had  had  any 
plans ;  she  asked  if  he  had  spoken  of  returning,  and 
that  was  all.  But  Pegleg  remembered  the  brave  bob 

157 


i58  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

of  her  head,  and  the  quaintly  wistful  smile  with 
which  she  left  him  when  he  was  buying  the  rose,  as 
Jimmy  had  requested,  the  night  the  "Satin  Slipper" 
opened.  That  purchase  he  made  out  of  his  own 
pocket,  tucking  away  the  sharply  creased  two-dollar 
bill  for  safe-keeping,  with  a  whimsical  thought  for  a 
use  to  which  he  might  some  day  put  it. 

A  few  days  later  a  little  figure  in  a  mad  costume 
of  black  gasped  at  the  mass  of  flowers  which  they 
brought  to  her  at  the  fall  of  the  last  act  curtain.  For 
Pegleg,  contemplating  the  one  rose,  had  suddenly 
found  it  insufficient.  But  it  was  over  the  single  red 
bud,  upon  which  he  had  spent  much  care  in  selection, 
that  she  cried  at  the  train;  the  manager  and  the 
principals  of  the  "Satin  Slipper,"  knowing  nothing  of 
this  solitary  message  or  the  local  catastrophe,  which 
would  not  have  scandalized  half  as  much  as  it  would 
have  amused  them,  tried  to  comfort  her  whom  they 
knew  only  as  an  earnest,  hungry-eyed,  red-haired, 
small  person ;  third  from  the  end,  front  row,  chorus. 

They  thought  that  she  was  homesick;  they  told  her 
she  would  soon  get  used  to  it.  And  later  she  cried 
herself  to  sleep. 

Of  Carol  Landis's  career  there  was  decidedly 
more  report  in  the  years  that  followed,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  her  departure  was  not  dignified  by  even  so 
much  as  adverse  mention.  It  was  Justice  Jameson's 
son,  Lloyd,  who  brought  back  to  Warchester  the  first 
really  tangible  news  of  her  progress,  though  Wain- 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER     159 

wright  himself,  coming  across  a  three-line  announce 
ment  in  a  theatrical  weekly  that  a  new  recruit  for  the 
dramatic  had  been  drafted  from  the  ranks  of  musical 
comedy,  faithfully  passed  it  on  to  his  strictly  local 
audience,  in  a  paragraph  commendatory  or 
facetiously  caustic,  as  one  cared  to  view  it.  Mr. 
Wainwright's  actual  intent  was  veiled,  but  the  report 
which  Lloyd  Jameson  brought  back  with  him  some 
four  years  later  from  New  York  was  anything  but 
uncertain  of  import.  To  the  contrary,  it  was  so 
glowing  and  incoherent  a  tribute  that  it  fell  little 
short  of  overreaching  itself. 

In  four  years  Lloyd's  enthusiastic  transfer  of  his 
£avor  from  one  pulchritudinous  member  of  the 
opposite  sex  to  another  had  become  an  occurrence  of 
periodic  regularity;  so  there  were  those  who  set  down 
his  rapt  account  of  Miss  Carol  Landis's  first 
Broadway  appearance  to  his  admitted  weakness — a 
harmless  outbreak,  but  as  visible  to  the  naked  eye  as 
a  summer  rash.  Of  the  work  she  did  in  her  role  he 
had  little  to  say — even  less  concerning  the  play 
itself.  "Just  the  same  old  stuff,"  was  the  way  he 
dismissed  inquiries  in  that  direction,  "but  wonderfully 
staged,  of  course.  Hardy's  a  wizard  at  staging 
anything." 

He  went  into  detail,  however,  without  being  urged, 
in  describing  the  transformation  which  had  taken 
place  in  old  Dave  Landis's  daughter.  "Spun  copper" 
he  used  oftenest  in  speaking  of  her  hair;  and  he 


160  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

dwelt  so  eloquently  upon  the  beauty  of  her  other 
features,  which  they  had  all  overlooked  in  former; 
days,  that  his  welcome  at  the  Sunday  evening  gather 
ings,  which  were  still  a  weekly  event  upon  the 
Latham  front  veranda,  became  noticeably  cooler, 
especially  on  the  part  of  that  portion  of  his  audience 
which  listened  in  polite  boredom  and  remarked  that 
much  could  be  done  with  make-up. 

This  observation,  in  the  nature  of  a  retort 
courteous,  was  largely  responsible  for  a  cynical  note 
which  crept  into  the  utterances  of  the  young 
gentleman  in  question  about  that  time,  whenever  he 
spoke  of  women  in  the  abstract.  But  one  result  he 
had  achieved  which  the  canniest  press-agent  would 
have  watched  with  frankest  envy.  And  when,  bearing 
out  Lloyd's  fervid  prophecy,  which  he  fell  back  upon 
whenever  they  drove  him  to  the  defensive, 
metropolitan  newspapers  and  magazines — devoted 
to  the  "profession" — began  to  mention  the  work  of 
an  "eager-eyed  young  lady  with  red  hair  who,  in  the 
part  of  Intoxication  in  Carl  Hardy's  sweeping 
morality  play,  'Wisdom,'  stood  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  rest  of  the  cast,"  theatrical  patrons  in 
Warchester  (those  who  followed  the  drama  with  an 
eye  to  the  critical,  as  well  as  those  who  bought  seats 
merely  to  be  amused)  read  every  word  with  avidity. 
They  waited,  as  patiently  as  they  were  able,  for  the 
day  when  "Wisdom"  should  come  to  town. 

The  play  needed  no  advance  advertising  when  the 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER     161 

billboards  announced  its  engagement  for  the  week 
following  the  Holidays.  Indeed,  the  probable 
influence  which  the  play  might  exert  upon  local  minds 
and  morals  had  so  usurped  the  center  of  the  stage 
that  little  else  of  importance  was  discussed  at  all 
during  the  two  weeks  which  preceded  its  initial 
performance  in  the  old  Palace  Theater  burlesque 
house. 

•  As  the  president  and  moving  spirit  of  the  Reform 
League  (the  society  which,  molding  those  of 
uncertain  opinion,  had  helped  to  place  T.  Elihu 
Banks  in  the  mayor's  office  four  years  in  succession, 
the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan  gave  the  matter  much 
private  thought  and  a  deal  of  public  mention.  From 
a  mere  dramatic  performance,  scheduled  to  lay  over 
there  the  leanest  week  in  the  season,  under  Mr.  Dun 
can's  agitation,  "Wisdom"  took  on  the  guise  of  a 
grave  crisis,  until  there  were  many  who  professed  a 
doubt  in  the  virtue  of  any  public  preachment, 
dramatic  or  otherwise,  which  featured  as  delightful 
the  work  of  any  artist  in  such  a  role  as  Intoxication. 
While  Mr.  Duncan  himself  was  reputed  ultra- 
advanced,  insofar  as  theological  matters  were 
concerned,  he  still  clung  to  the  belief  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  admitting  that  vice  had  its 
bright  sides.  When  dealing  with  all  such  matters  his 
language  was  drab  and  his  premonition  of  a  future 
state  still  drabber.  And  finally  convinced  that  the 
production  was  likely  to  offend  the  finer  sensibilities 


1 62  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

and  prove  an  affront  to  every  established  idea  of 
decency,  the  town  set  a  record  for  an  advance  sale  of 
tickets  which,  until  then,  had  never  been  equaled. 
Every  seat  in  the  house  sold  out  three  days  before  the 
company's  arrival. 

At  the  Sunday  morning  service  in  St.  Luke's,  the 
rector  alone  failed  to  guess  the  identity  of  the  girl 
with  bronze-tinted  hair  who  occupied  a  back  pew  with 
David  Landis.  On  the  face  of  it  that  would  seem  an 
incredible  thing,  for  the  buzz  which  followed  her 
entrance  should  have  apprised  him  of  her  identity, 
and  she  had  been  much  in  his  mind.  But  her  costume, 
black  from  hat  and  muffling  fur  to  the  low  pumps, 
which  seemed  totally  inadequate  for  a  Warchester 
winter,  resembled  in  no  way  the  costume  which  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Duncan  had  imagined  a  widely 
advertised  actress  of  insidious  roles  would  wear. 
And  he  overlooked  her  father  entirely — everybody 
overlooked  old  Dave  Landis. 

That  morning  Mr.  Duncan  spoke  feelingly;  partly 
because  the  subject  which  he  had  chosen  lay  close  to 
him;  partly  because  the  wistful  attention  in  this 
charming  stranger's  gray  eyes  led  him  to  believe  that 
his  words  were  awakening  in  her  a  response  born  of 
experience.  He  saw  her  nod,  ever  so  little,  and  smile 
as  he  announced  that  his  evening  discourse  would  be 
an  intimate  and  practical  application  of  the  morning's 
sermon  to  the  present-day  influence  of  the  theater, 
She  was  still  smiling  when  she  stepped  up  to  him  in 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER    163 

the  vestibule   and  held  out  a  slim,   gloved  hand. 

The  older  members  of  St.  Luke's  congregation  had 
already  passed  out  into  the  brilliant  winter  sunshine. 
But  in  the  slim  girl's  neighborhood  there  was  an 
excess  of  youthfully  effusive  exclamation,  and  cooing, 
Sabbath  mirth.  Once  they  had  ignored  Carol 
Landis's  presence  with  less  elaborate  effort — in  fact, 
with  no  effort  at  all.  Now,  wishing  inordinately  to 
be  the  first  to  establish  a  claim  to  childhood  acquaint 
ance,  that  effort  served  only  to  draw  attention  to  a 
common  uncertainty  as  to  the  best  way  to  go  about 
it.  Even  Lloyd  Jameson,  who  had  resolved  during 
the  sermon  that  the  man  who  outstripped  him  in 
reaching  her  side  would  have  to  move  rapidly  indeed, 
found  that  his  initiative  had  deserted  him  when  the 
moment  for  action  came.  Yet,  all  and  all,  it  was  a 
moment  of  triumph  for  Lloyd.  For  every  anxious, 
backward  look  of  the  rest  he  had  a  glance  of 
challenge.  There  was  a  swagger  in  his  bearing  the 
rest  of  the  day  which  seemed  to  say — I  told  you  so. 

Carol  Landis  alone  remained  outwardly  unaware 
of  the  stir  which  she  herself  was  creating.  She  gave 
her  attention  entirely  to  the  old  man  beside  her  until 
the  rector  appeared.  But  her  nod  of  greeting  to  him 
,was  so  intimately  eager  that  Mr.  Duncan  grew  a 
trifle  blank  and  dismayed. 

"You  don't  remember  me !"  she  accused  him.  And 
then  Mr.  Duncan  remembered.  At  her  delighted 
peal  of  laughter  the  rector  of  St.  Luke's,  little  given 


1 64  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

to  levity,  could  not  but  see  the  charming  humor  of 
such  a  preposterous  statement. 

"But  I  do,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  made  haste  to 

reply.  "Any  man  who  could  ever  forget  you " 

His  face  became  florid  as  he  finished  the  implication 
with  a  bow —  "You  are  little  Miss  Landis,  of 
course." 

In  a  way,  it  was  a  remarkable  reply.  In  every  way 
it  was  different  from  what  the  Reverend  Watson 
Duncan  had  imagined  it  would  be,  yet  now  he  was 
the  first  to  laugh.  And  her  quick  enjoyment  convinced 
him  instantly  that  he  had  said  a  very  clever  thing. 

With  the  eyes  of  his  congregation  upon  him,  the 
Reverend  Watson  Duncan  accompanied  David 
Landis  and  his  daughter  home  to  the  cottage  on  the 
back  street,  reached  by  way  of  the  path  that  led 
around  the  rectory  and  through  the  orchard,  gaunt 
and  gnarled  and  naked ;  nor  was  it  commented  in  any 
quarter  that  he  seemed  to  find  this  duty  irksome. 

On  the  way,  he  spoke  of  his  naturally  keen  interest 
in  the  spiritual  children  of  his  congregation,  while  old 
Dave  Landis  strode  on  ahead,  a  quaint  stiffness  in 
his  bearing.  Delicately  he  intimated  to  the  girl  at 
his  side  how  wide  was  the  discussion  which  her 
interpretation  of  a  doubtful  role  had  stirred  up,  and 
expressed  hope  that  she  had  not  unwisely  allowed 
expediency  to  influence  her  in  a  meritorious  desire  for 
success.  This  last  remark,  however,  was  interrupted 
by  the  barbed-wire  fence,  and  when  Carol  had 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER  165 

extricated  him  and  chided  him  for  his  male 
heedlessness  (the  reverend  gentleman  was  never 
given  to  know  how  aghast  had  been  his  face  while  he 
stood  with  august  coat-tail  impaled  upon  a  rusty 
barb),  he  cast  about  for  a  sentence  to  continue  that 
lead,  and  found  that  it  had  somehow  eluded  him. 

"It  is  very  dear  of  you  to  have  thought  about 
that,"  the  girl  herself  led  the  way  back  to  the  subject. 
"I — I  knew  you  would.  I  thought  it  might — but  it 
makes  me  very  happy  to  hear  you  speak  of  it  so 
frankly.  I  was  afraid  that  many  of  Warchester's 
people — her  best  people — had  already  formed  an 
opinion  which  might  prove  difficult  to  combat." 

The  arch  of  her  lips  was  distinctly  disconcerting, 
and,  while  Mr.  Duncan's  reply  was  not  exactly 
vague,  it  was  in  no  way  alarmingly  committal,  either. 
One  might  have  thought  that  he  was  trying  to  get  his 
•breath,  and  sparring  for  time. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  said  solemnly;  "most  certainly, 
yes." 

She  had  led  the  way  into  the  small  front  room  and 
seated  him  with  a  graciousness  that  might  have 
matched  Evelyn  Latham's  coolest  poise,  although  the 
chair  which  she  proffered  was  a  causalty  risk  in  it 
self;  and  old  Dave  Landis  had  withdrawn  with  a 
punctilious  word  concerning  an  important  editorial 
for  the  morning  edition  before  it  occurred  to  the 
Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  with  inspiring  suddenness 
just  how  pleasant  his  duty  was. 


1 66  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Carol  tossed  aside  her  black  coat  and  stood  a 
moment  in  blouse  and  short  black  skirt  before  the 
pier-glass,  touching  her  hair  with  her  finger-tips, 
though  it  was  the  reflection  of  her  own  sober  eyes  at 
which  she  gazed.  Then  she  turned  back  to  him  with 
a  dazzling  smile. 

"It  was  very  childish  of  me  to  worry,  and  very 
absurd,  wasn't  it?"  she  laughed.  "But  I  want  to 
know  what  you  think.  Because  I'm  sure  you'll  be  very 
positive  in  your  condemnation  or  approval." 

Thereupon  Mr.  Duncan  placed  both  hands  upon 
his  knees,  his  fingers  widespread,  and  leaned  forward. 
The  girl's  face  was  very  earnest,  and  very,  very 
lovely.  Not  even  the  ghost  of  a  smile  lurked  in  the 
corners  of  her  mouth. 

"My  dear  child,"  he  began  sonorously,  "it  has  long 
been  a  foolish  custom  to  paint  temptation  in  ugly 
colors — a  dangerous  one  as  well,  for  temptations,  in 
this  era,  are  about  the  most  brightly  garbed  problems 
which  we  encounter." 

And  starting  thus,  he  expounded  at  such  length  his 
personal  impatience  with  so  misguided  a  doctrine 
that  it  was  a  full  half-hour  before  he  came  to  refer 
to  the  part  which  she  played  in  the  morality  play 
called  "Wisdom." 

"Here  in  the  small  circle,  the  opinion  of  which  it 
is  permitted  me  to  mold  at  least  a  little,"  he  assured 
her,  "I  mean  to  take  advantage  of  this  concrete 
example  to  drive  home  the  lesson.  Nor  do  I  need  to 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER  167 

tell  you  how  greatly  it  pleases  me  that  it  is  one  of 
my  own  flock — to  use  a  homely  expression — who 
makes  the  opportunity  possible.  Warchester  has  been 
watching  you,  Miss  Landis,  ever  since  the  day  you 
stepped  out,  with  your  ideals  and  your  faith  in 
yourself,  to  carve  out  your  own  destiny.  And 
Warchester  will  be  very  proud  to  claim  you  now, 
Miss  Landis — of  that  you  may  be  certain.  An  eager 
and  sympathetic  audience  is  awaiting  your  initial 
appearance  to-morrow  evening." 

It  was  a  long  half-hour,  but  Carol  gave  no  sign 
that  she  had  found  it  so.  She  listened  without  once 
taking  her  eyes  from  his  face,  even  when  he  spoke  of 
her  departure  from  Warchester.  And  she  bobbed 
her  head,  prettily  grateful,  when  he  had  finished. 

"But  do  you  realize  that  you  haven't  told  me  a 
single  thing  about  anybody  I  used  to  know?"  she 
asked,  a  moment  later.  "Usually  I  like  to  talk  about 
myself  better  than  any  other  available  topic,  but  a 
little  gossip  is  a  sin  for  which  I'll  gladly  do  penance 
later,  if  you'll  only  let  me  indulge  it  now.  Father  is 
an  atrocious  letter-writer.  He  assured  me  that  I'd 
find  Warchester  little  changed,  so  I'm  certain  that  his 
viewpoint  is  entirely  too  profound  for  me  to 
appreciate." 

Mr.  Duncan  was  silent  for  a  time  while  he  selected 
words  which  might  not  in  any  way  wound  this  round- 
eyed  young  person  who  waited  with  her  lips  half 
parted. 


i68  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"It  is  still  a  very  typical,  and,  I  hope,  extremely 
human,  community,"  Mr.  Duncan  replied.  "But  I 
cannot  agree  with  your  father's  unqualified  statement. 
It  is  inadequate  and  misleading — innocently  so,  to  be 
sure.  While  it  has  maintained,  personally,  an 
unassailable  reputation  in  the  struggle,  I  have  never 
ceased  to  regret  that  he  has  been  allied  against  us, 
in  our  march  toward  finer  ideals,  both  in  a  civic " 

Promptly  Carol  pressed  both  palms  against  her 
ears. 

"You  can't  talk  politics  to  me,"  she  cried 
emphatically.  "I  won't  listen.  You  are  permitted  to 
tell  me  who  is  married  and  who  is  engaged.  You 
dare  mention  civic  problems  to  me!  Why,  Mr. 
Duncan,  I'm  a  suffragette  only  because  I  enjoy 
demanding  things  which  someone  tells  me  I  mustn't 
have." 

Once  more  the  reverend  gentleman  spoke  at  some 
length.  But  when,  with  real  regret,  he  was  at  last 
forced  to  admit  that  he  had  exhausted  his  subject, 
the  girl  lifted  a  pensive  face. 

"What  a  harum-scarum  creature  I  was,"  she  mur 
mured.  And  then  exclaimed  in  quick  surprise  at  the 
incompleteness  of  the  tale. 

"Why,  you've  entirely  neglected  to  tell  me  anything 
concerning  the  one  person  about  whom  I've  been 
waiting  and  waiting  to  hear.  You  haven't  said  a 
single  word  about  Jimmy,  Mr.  Duncan?" 

The  benign  smile  with  which  he  had  been  watching 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER  169 

her  glowing  face  was  gone  in  a  breath.  In  that  same 
breath  the  silence  in  the  room  grew  strained.  For  an 
infinitesimal  second  the  reverend  gentleman  felt 
instinctively  that  he  had  been  outrageously  betrayed. 
The  very  clearness  of  her  gaze,  however,  disarmed 
him  the  next  instant,  and  convinced  him  of  the 
unworthiness  of  such  a  suspicion.  He  tempered  the 
reply  which  had  sprung  first  to  his  lips. 

"That  is  a  subject  which  I  have  not  mentioned,  nor 
endured  to  be  discussed  in  my  presence,  for  many 
years,  Miss  Landis."  He  spoke  with  exceeding 
gravity.  "But  I  realize  what  underlies  your  query. 
More  than  that,  I  am  constrained  to  tell  you  how  fine 
a  thing  I  think  such  loyalty  to  be.  Many  times  I 
have  told  myself  that  at  least  it  is  good  not  to  have 
to  suffer  self-recrimination.  And  you  will  be  glad 
to  hear  that  his  pride  was  great  enough  to  keep  him 
from  returning  to  the  city  which  was  forced  to  cast 
him  off." 

The  Reverend  Watson  Duncan  did  not  see  the 
expression  which  that  thankful  utterance  provoked, 
for  she  looked  quickly  away.  And  she  had  mastered 
it,  and  contrived  somehow  a  smile,  before  her  head 
came  up  again.  But  the  brightness  of  her  eyes 
brought  an  awkward  lump  into  Mr.  Duncan's  throat. 

"I've  never  heard  from  him,"  she  said  very 
quietly.  "But  I've  often  wondered — somehow  I 
thought  that  it  would  be  his  pride  which  would  bring 
him  back." 


170 

She  raised  a  hand  as  he  cleared  his  throat. 

"You  have  been  very  good  to  sit  and  listen  so  long 
to  my  chatter.  I  mustn't  keep  you  any  longer.  If  I 
send  you  tickets  for  to-morrow  night,  you'll  come, 
won't  you?" 

Mr.  Duncan  rose.  She  had  mastered  the  art  of  a 
graceful  exit.  The  reverend  gentleman  took  his 
leave,  believing  that  he  had  brought  it  about  himself. 

As  he  had  promised,  the  rector  of  St.  Luke's  spoke 
that  night  upon  the  subject  of  the  morality  play, 
"Wisdom."  As  hinted,  his  remarks  were  in  a  way, 
sensational,  but  not  in  the  way  in  which  his  congrega 
tion  had  expected.  For  Mr.  Duncan's  approval  of 
one  member  of  the  cast,  at  least,  was  so  unreserved 
that  Miss  Evelyn  Latham,  the  acknowledged  leader 
of  Warchester's  younger  set,  came  to  a  decision 
concerning  a  question  which  had  been  occupying  her 
mind  throughout  the  entire  day.  Upon  heavy 
monogrammed  paper  she  wrote  Miss  Landis,  who 
played  the  part  of  Intoxication,  a  decidedly  informal 
invitation  to  be  the  guest  of  honor  at  a  small  tea 
following  Saturday's  matinee.  And  in  the  same  mail, 
Ferris,  the  company's  road  manager,  dispatched  two 
box-seats  to  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  though 
the  demand  for  them  was  clamorous.  This,  he 
assured  the  house  treasurer,  was  the  least  he  could 
do,  since  it  was  Mr.  Duncan  who  was  largely  re 
sponsible  for  that  demand. 

Quite  in  accord  with  the  usual  course  of  events,  it 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER  171 

was  Mr.  Wainwright  who  echoed,  Tuesday  morning, 
the  huge  audience's  judgment  of  the  performance  the 
night  before.  He  complimented  the  management 
upon  its  sagacity  in  no  longer  attempting  to  foist 
upon  a  sane  public  productions  which  made  their 
appeal  to  the  grosser  sensibilities,  and  mentioned 
briefly  the  work  of  the  star.  But  the  rest  of  an  entire 
column  was  devoted  to  "Warchester's  own 
daughter." 

The  first  two  items  were  universally  skipped; 
everybody  read  the  rest  of  the  account,  save  the 
"daughter"  herself.  And  she  was  too  busy  badgering 
her  father  about  the  account  of  the  same  affair  which 
the  Courier  carried  to  think  of  the  other  paper.  For 
once  old  Dave  Landis  had  dipped  his  pen  in 
Wainwright's  fluid  phraseology;  and  though  Carol 
shouted  in  glee,  and  quoted  his  own  words  to  his 
face,  and  called  it  shameless,  that  day  was  the  second 
of  the  happiest  week  in  his  whole  life. 

Everybody  had  ignored  him  so  long  that  he  had 
grown  accustomd  to  it;  and  now  all  who  knew  him, 
no  matter  how  slightly,  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  ignore  them.  Warchester,  having  claimed  Carol 
Landis  for  its  own,  was  seized  immediately  with  an 
overwhelming  desire  to  shake  her  father  by  the  hand 
— in  her  presence,  if  possible;  if  not,  then  with  a 
hope  that  chance  would  be  kinder  next  time.  And 
though  it  was  not  so  ephemeral  a  thing  as  their 
belated  realization  of  his  own  worth  upon  which  his 


1 72  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

happiness  was  based,  the  discredited  old  dreamer 
accepted  it  for  what  it  was  worth,  and  enjoyed  it 
accordingly. 

He  was  with  his  daughter  almost  every  hour  of 
every  day;  he  chanced  to  be  alone  only  because  she 
was  at  rehearsal  Saturday  morning,  when  T.  Elihu 
Banks  stopped  him  before  the  Commonwealth 
Building  and  accosted  him  with  ponderous  jocularity. 
T.  Elihu  invariably  swam  with  the  current,  when  it 
was  harmless  as  well  as  popular. 

"Still  pounding  me,  I  see,"  he  remarked,  and  he 
jabbed  at  a  copy  of  the  Courier  with  a  fat  forefinger, 
" — and  I  understand  that  the  women  folks  are  giving 
a  tea  for  your  daughter  up  at  my  house  this  very 
afternoon.  Rank  ingratitude,  sir — rank  ingratitude ! 
1  don't  suppose  you'll  let  up  on  me,  Dave,  till  you're 
gone  for  good." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  twenty  years  that  T.  Elihu 
had  addressed  him  by  his  first  name,  which  he 
appeared  to  use  unconsciously  now.  That  morning 
Main  Street  was  treated  to  the  sight  of  their  great 
man  laughing  boisterously  over  the  sally  of  one  who, 
for  as  long  a  period,  had  never  ceased  to  assail  him. 

"And  maybe  not  then,"  Landis  laughed  back. 
"Maybe  not  then — who  knows !" 

T.  Elihu  pondered  a  day  or  two  over  that  reply, 
and  then  forgot  it,  for  a  time.  And  it  was  T.  Elihu 
who,  early  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  sent 
the  message  to  Carol  Landis  which  brought  her  back 


WARCHESTER'S  OWN  DAUGHTER  173 

to  Warchester  a  second  time,  the  morning  after  news 
had  spread  like  fire  to  every  corner  of  the  city  that 
David  Landis  was  dead. 

T.  Elihu  met  the  girl  at  the  station  with  the  purple- 
cushioned  barouche;  he  took  upon  himself  every 
"arrangement,"  insofar  as  she  would  permit. 

But  it  was  Pegleg  Hanlon  who  sat  with  her  in  the 
small  front  room  of  the  dingy  cottage,  the  day  after 
the  funeral,  when  her  father's  will  was  read. 

Nobody  had  suspected  a  streak  of  grim  humor  in 
Dave  Landis.  Everybody  had  believed  that  the 
publication  known  as  the  Courier  was  mortgaged  to 
T.  Elihu  to  the  last  dollar  of  its  value,  until  the 
Courier  printed  a  copy  of  its  owner's  most  important 
bequest. 

Hours  after  that  edition  was  carried  into  T.Elihu's 
office  in  the  Commonwealth  Building,  no  one  dared 
to  enter.  Sundry  noises,  arising  from  time  to  time 
behind  the  closed  door,  made  such  a  course  seem 
inadvisable. 

David  Landis  had  lert  the  Warchester  Courier, 
title,  property  and  good  will,  to  "My  friend  and 
fellow-townsman,  James  Gordon  —  my  logical 
successor  in  Warchester." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MELODY 

FOR  a  week  or  two   discussion  of  old  Dave 
Landis's  last  will  and  testament  was  heard  on 
every  corner  in  Warchester,  especially  heated 
insofar  as  it  concerned  the  one  whom  he  had  named 
as  his  principal  heir  and  logical  successor. 

There  were  those  who  insisted  that  Jimmy  was 
likely  to  turn  up  any  morning  to  claim  his  heritage. 
But  when  the  perfunctory  advertisement,  which  had 
been  sent  broadcast  throughout  the  land,  failed  to 
produce  the  wanderer,  this  position  became  logically 
untenable,  and  public  interest  gradually  waned.  Some 
few  pointed  out  that  the  joke  on  T.  Elihu  had 
achieved  the  one  big  moment,  anyhow — that  Jimmy's 
return,  in  some  state  of  vagabondage,  could  only 
serve  as  anti-climax. 

And  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  in  the  same 
connection,  quoted  an  apt  line  or  two  concerning  the 
brief  span  of  years  which  is  the  lot  of  those  who  tread 
the  paths  of  pleasure. 

Yet  the  advertisement  did  come  to  the  eyes  of  him 
for  whom  it  was  meant,  though  not  in  a  scene  of 
squalor,  nor  any  other  of  the  highly  undesirable, 


MELODY  175 

picturesque  fashions  in  which  Warchester  had 
imagined  James  Gordon's  discovery  of  it. 

Following  the  death  of  her  father,  Carol  Landis 
went  back  on  the  road  with  the  play  called 
"Wisdom."  (Wainwright  wrote  with  moving 
eloquence  upon  the  unsung  bravery  of  those  who 
wore  a  mask  of  merriment  when  the  heart  was  lead.) 
And  when,  two  months  later,  Carl  Hardy  watched 
her  work  from  the  front  before  the  company  closed, 
he  returned  to  New  York  with  his  mind  made  up. 

Two  nights  later,  in  carpet  slippers  and  ragged 
smoking- jacket,  he  sat  and  smiled  a  welcome  to  the 
author  of  "Seek  and  Ye  Shall  Find,"  who  stopped  in 
the  living-room  door  to  grin  quizzically.  "Seek  and 
Ye  Shall  Find"  had  remained  a  season  on  Broadway, 
and  bade  fair  to  remain  there  the  best  part  of 
another.  Locating  its  author  was  usually  an  entirely 
different  matter,  however,  and  Hardy  counted  it  a 
lucky  omen  that  his  note,  requesting  an  interview, 
had  not  found  him  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hemisphere. 

He  waited  until  the  visitor  had  stretched  his  lean 
length  in  a  chair  before  he  spoke. 

"Well,  I'm  ready,"  he  began  then,  with  a  kind  of 
repressed  abruptness,  "I'm  ready!  What  about 
you?" 

Plainly  the  question  had  to  do  with  a  subject  which 
they  had  discussed  until  it  had  become  a  familiar 
one. 


176  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"His  Own  Home  Town?"  the  other  asked,  and 
his  quizzical  grin  disappeared. 

Hardy  nodded  his  head  emphatically. 

"Anybody  in  particular  in  mind  for  the  lead?" 

Again  the  emphatic  nod. 

"Landis !"  snapped  the  producer. 

And  the  taller,  thinner  man  was  so  long  silent, 
staring  into  the  empty  fireplace  before  him,  that 
Hardy  finally  found  it  no  longer  possible  to  hide  his 
enthusiasm. 

"Man,"  he  cried,  "if  you  can  only  get  a  finish  for 
that  first  act !  If  you  can  only  take  that  boy,  as  you've 
conceived  him,  carry  him  back  to  the  town  that 
turned  him  out — keep  it  all  logical! — keep  it  just 
simple ! — and  dirt-mean ! — and  splendid — and  oh, 
just  so  damned  convincing  that  one  would  have  to 
believe  that  it  had  all  really  happened — !"  he  broke 
off,  laughing  self-consciously  at  his  own  outburst — 
"Well,  she  can  handle  the  girl's  part.  I've  watched 
her,  and  I  know.  What  do  you  think?" 

The  younger  man  might  have  been  talking  to  him 
self  when  he  made  answer. 

"Just  as  though  it  had  all  really  happened,"  he 
murmured;  and  then  his  head  swung  up.  "Of  course 
— and  why  not?  I'll  try  it,  Hardy.  I'll  see  what  I 
can  do?" 

Two  days  later,  Jimmy  Gordon,  T.  Elihu's 
good-for-nothing  nephew,  turned  up  again  in  the 
haunts  of  his  youth. 


MELODY  177 

Spring  had  given  way  to  early  summer.  There 
was  a  drowsy  hum  in  the  air  and  a  heavy  scent  of 
hyacinths  upon  the  puff  of  wind  which  blew  across 
the  Common.  Seated  upon  the  veranda  of  the  Bay 
State  Hotel  a  plump  traveling  man — better  known  to 
the  trade  as  a  "drummer" — sniffed  and  then  breathed 
deeply  of  it.  He  had  been  forced  to  forego  his  jump 
to  Providence  and  lay  over  there  Sunday,  because  he 
dared  not  leave  town  without  seeing  Latham,  of  the 
Construction  Company — J.  J.  Latham — personally, 
before  he  went.  So  one  would  reasonably  have 
expected  him  to  find  nothing  of  excellence  on  the 
scene  of  his  broken  schedule.  To  the  contrary,  his 
straw  hat  tilted  back  at  a  dangerous  angle,  quill 
toothpick — relic  of  an  early  breakfast — protruding 
comfortably  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  he  voiced 
aloud  his  unqualified  content  to  the  intrepid  pair 
which  formed  the  martial  statue  in  the  center  of  the 
Common — a  gunner  and  his  mate. 

"Me,  too,  boys,"  he  muttered.  "I'm  with  you. 
I'd  just  as  soon  fight  it  out  on  these  lines  if  it  took 
all  summer." 

Mr.  Dodge,  the  hotel  proprietor,  behind  the  desk 
inside,  hearing  the  sound  of  his  voice,  promptly 
crossed  to  the  open  doorway.  But  any  question  which 
he  might  have  asked  was  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of 
the  eight  o'clock  express,  which  thundered  into 
Warchester's  dingy  station-shed  at  that  moment.  Mr. 
Dodge  gave  his  attention  to  the  straggling  knot  of 


178  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

arrivals,  who  hurried  off  uptown;  and  the  drummer 
continued  to  contemplate  the  gunner  and  his  mate, 
for  his  distaste  for  Mr.  Dodge's  society  was  as 
great  as  Mr.  Dodge's  disapproval  and  distrust  of 
him,  until  the  hotel  proprietor's  gasp  of  astonishment 
forced  his  attention. 

Mr.  Dodge  was  staring  with  his  mouth  wide  open. 

"What  is  it,  a  fire?"  the  drummer  demanded 
truculently;  and  then,  catching  sight  of  the  figure  on 
the  station  platform  at  which  the  proprietor  was 
gazing  so  fixedly,  his  round  face  became  suddenly 
cherubic. 

It  was  the  drummer's  boast  that  he  never  forgot 
a  name  or  a  face,  and  he  had  more  than  one  good 
reason  for  remembering  that  tall,  lean,  thin-nosed 
figure  in  blue  serge  who  stood  gazing  up  Front  Street, 
oblivious  to  everything  but  his  own  thoughts. 
'Aimless  would  not  have  described  him  with 
exactitude,  and  yet  he  seemed  amiably  unconscious  of 
the  stunned  regard  of  Mr.  Dodge. 

The  drummer  wheeled  toward  that  dumfounded 
individual. 

"Who's  your  friend?"  he  inquired  with  exceeding 
softness. 

Mr.  Dodge  turned  with  a  sort  of  hypnotic  stiffness 
of  neck.  Mr.  Dodge  suggested  a  man  who,  having 
gazed  upon  an  apparition,  was  trying  to  convince 
himself  that  he  did  not  believe  in  the  supernatural, 
and  achieving  an  indifferent  success. 


MELODY  179 

"He's  no  friend  of  mine,"  he  retorted 
mechanically,  "nor  of  anybody  else  in  this  town. 
That — by  Judas,  that  is  him! — that's  Jimmy  Gordon 
come  back  again,  just  when  we  was  beginning  to 
think  he  was  gone  for  good." 

"Hum-m-m,"  murmured  the  drummer;  "hum-m-m." 
lAnd  then,  most  ingenuously:  "I  wonder  where's  the 
dog?" 

But  this  doubtful  witticism  missed  its  mark.  Once 
certain  that  his  eyes  were  not  betraying  him,  the 
Bay  State  proprietor  moved  to  the  head  of  the  steps, 
the  better  to  view  the  lean  figure's  passage  up  Front 
Street.  And  little  by  little  his  smile  waxed  malig 
nantly  pleased. 

"Look  at  that  suit,  will  you?"  he  called  attention 
to  the  garments,  which,  in  truth,  were  far  from  new, 
"and  that  old  felt  hat  and  bag.  Don't  look  to  me  like 
he  had  found  a  gold-mine  since  he  went  away.  Well, 
if  he's  come  back  to  this  city  expecting  somebody  to 
give  him  a  lift,  it  won't  take  him  long  to  find  out  how 
much  of  a  mistake  he's  made.  I — I  wish  I  could  be 
around  to  see  T.  Elihu's  face  when  he  finds  out  he's 
back." 

The  drummer  ignored  that  devoutly  expressed 
desire.  He  had  been  considering  the  prodigal's  garb, 
even  before  Mr.  Dodge  called  attention  to  it. 

"Nothing  flash,"  he  mused  agreeably,  "but — but  it 
struck  me  that  they  looked  as  if  they  might  have  been 
made  for  him."  He  addressed  his  question  directly 


i8o  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

to  the  host :  "How  long  did  you  say  he's  been  away?" 

"Upward  of  six  years."  Mr.  Dodge's  calculation 
was  as  hasty  as  his  utterance,  for  Jimmy  Gordon  had 
reached  the  corner  of  Main  Street  and  paused. 

"Now  watch,"  Mr.  Dodge  whispered,  there  was 
no  need  for  caution.  "Watch!  A-a-a-h,  didn't  I  tell 
you  so  ?  There  he  goes,  back  to  Hanlon's.  Once  a 
crook — always  a  crook!"  And  he  sighed  deeply. 
"It'll  certainly  be  mighty  hard  on  his  family,"  he 
said. 

The  thin  figure  with  its  familiar  shoulder  stoop 
had  indeed  paused  at  the  corner,  but  not  from 
indecision.  He  paused  again  at  the  head  of  the  alley, 
and  again  beside  the  heap  of  discarded  scenery  near 
the  stage  door.  And  when  he  climbed  the  steps  of 
the  square  brick  hotel,  and  found  Pegleg  waiting  for 
him  in  the  doorway,  he  thought  that  Pegleg  must 
have  seen  his  deliberate  approach,  for  there  was 
no  surprise,  but  merely  grave  welcome,  in  Hanlon's 
eyes. 

"I  was  expectin'  ye,"  Hanlon  answered  his 
laughing  question,  and  Jimmy's  laughter  hushed.  "I 
was  expectin'  ye.  Though  'twill  sound  foolish  when 
I  tell  ye  why.  Jimmy,  lad,  I  wonder  if  ye  would  be 
remimbei  in'  wan  av  the  old  burlesque  crowd — but  av 
course  ye  would " 

"Melody?"  Quickly  Jimmy  anticipated  him. 

Hanlon  nodded  heavily,  and  led  the  way  to  the 


MELODY  181 

table  near  the  window  of  the  larger  room,  which 
overlooked  the  river. 

"She  died  last  night,"  he  explained  shortly.  "She's 
been  dying  for  three  years."  But  with  his  next  words 
he  had  gone  back  through  the  years  to  that  last 
Imorning  when  they  had  sat  there  together.  "Ten 
days  they  gave  her,"  he  went  on,  "but  'twas  not  the 
servin'  av  them  that  made  the  change  in  her,  for  no 
matter  how  she  changed  in  other  ways — and  I've 
never  known  man  or  woman  so  altered  in  so  little 
time — she  never  stopped  hatin'  thim. 

"She  gave  up  her  job  in  the  Palace.  She  stuck  to 
her  room  day  and  night,  exceptin'  when  she  came 
down  to  meals.  And  it  was  a  week  before  I  learned 
what  she  was  doin'.  Are  ye  remimberin'  the  old 
writin'  machine  ye  left  to  cover  certain  arrears  in 
board?" 

Jimmy  smiled  and  bowed  his  head. 

"She  was  learnin'  the  manipulation  av  that," 
Pegleg  told  him,  "and  certain  pothooks  she  made  by 
the  ream.  She  spoke  no  explanation,  mind  you,  and 
I  nor  no  one  else  questioned  her,  for  though  her 
voice  had  become  quiet,  the  black  eyes  av  her  never 
grew  any  meeker.  Three  months  there  was  av  that, 
and  then  she  set  out  walkin'  the  streets,  lookin'  for 
a  job." 

Hanlon  stopped  there  a  moment.  The  expression 
on  Jimmy's  face  baffled  him.  The  quiet  man  seemed 
very  like  the  taciturn  boy  whom  he  had  known,  and 


1 82  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

yet  there  was  a  different  quality  behind  his  silence. 

"Can  ye  imagine  her  lookin'  for  a  job  in  this 
town?"  he  went  on.  "Can  ye  imagine  what  it  would 
be  like  if — if  ye  were  to  try  that  thing?  Then  ye  can 
picture  well  enough,  can't  ye,  the  reception  she  got? 
Some  av  thim  wouldn't  let  her  inside  their  offices — 
they  shut  the  doors  in  her  face.  And  others,  well, 
they  smiled,  knowin'  like,  and  thim  she  left  before 
they'd  had  a  chance  to  speak. 

"But  she  kept  at  it  a  week,  or  maybe  two.  And 
then  I  did  what  I'd  have  done  at  first  had  I  been 
thinkin'  instead  av  feelin'  sorry  for  her.  I  tipped  off 
Bauman  that  he  needed  a  stenographer  bad,  and  he 
offered  her  a  job.  'Twas  too  late  then,  av  course. 
She  just  laughed;  she  knew  that  Bauman  was  my 
man.  She  told  him  she'd  decided  the  work  was  too 
confinin',  anyhow.  Two  days  later  she  cleaned  up 
the  machine  until  it  was  bright  as  a  new  penny,  and 
quit  town. 

"She  come  back  two  weeks  ago,  lad,  and  nobody 
with  eyes  needed  to  think  she'd  been  makin'  her  livin' 
runnin'  a  typewriter.  I  found  her  on  the  street 
myself,  out  in  front  av  the  Palace.  She  didn't  seem 
to  remimber  very  much  clearly,  but  she  knew  me. 
And  she  was  thin !  Afther  just  wan  look  at  the  color 
in  her  cheeks,  I  didn't  have  to  ask  questions.  I 
knew — oh,  I  knew  well  enough ! 

"She  said  she'd  come  back  to  explain  to  Judge 
Jameson  just  how  it  all  had  happened.  Ye  see,  she'd 


MELODY  183 

forgotten  some  five  years  or  so — forgotten  thim 
completely — and  that  was  merciful — was  it  not? 
She  had  to  put  Jameson  right,  else  they'd  be  chasin' 
you  out  of  the  city;  and  I  promised  her  that  if  she'd 
wait  until  mornin'  I'd  go  with  her,  for  that  was  the 
only  way  I  could  persuade  her  to  rest  at  all. 

"And  then — then,  next  mornin'  she'd  forgotten 
that.  She  was  talkin'  av  places  and  people,  and  cool 
water  and  green  hills — things  that  she'd  known 
before  ever  we  knew  her.  And  that — that  was  the 
way  she  died  last  night.  She  just  walked  out  over  the 
hills,  Jimmy,  into  the  mornin'. 

"The  doctors  called  it  delirium,  but  who  are  they, 
that  they  should  be  so  sure  ?  'Tell  Mr.  Gordon  about 
the  lilies  of  the  valley,'  she  said  to  me,  easy  and  sure 
and  content.  'I  like  them  best.  He'll  take  care  of 
everything.'  And  there  she  lay,  smilin'  up  at  me, 
knowin'  and  glad  that  she  was  to  go.  'I  want  it  to 
be  just  like  other  girls.  I  wish  I  could  wait  till  he 
gets  back.  I  wish  I  could  tell  him  I  didn't  stop  to 
think  that  it  would  cause  him  trouble.  But  I  can't — 
I've  never  been  so  tired  in  all  my  life — ' ' 

The  waiter  with  the  expressionless  face  and  the 
patch  of  white  apron  across  his  thighs  had  cleared 
the  table  between  them  long  before  Pegleg  finished. 

The  older  man  sat  watching  the  kindly  smile 
which  hovered  over  Jimmy's  lips  after  he  was 
through. 

"She  wondered,"  he  hesitated,  "if  'twould  be  too 


1 84  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

imuch  to  ask."  And  suddenly  he  was  wondering  how 
much  of  the  boy  was  left  in  the  man  before  him. 
"I'm  thinkin'  I  could  care  for  it  all  meself,  if — 
if " 

Jimmy  rose  and  moved  to  the  window.  Until  then 
Hanlon  had  not  noticed  that  the  boy's  hair  was 
streaked  gray  as  his  own  behind  the  temples. 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  little  while,"  said  Jimmy,  slowly. 
"You  can  buy  a  plot — with  money.  I'll  be  back  in  a 
little  while." 

The  news  spread  swiftly  that  morning,  and  since  it 
is  an  axiom  that  bad  news  always  does,  it  is  to  be 
assumed  that  Warchester  looked  upon  James 
Gordon's  homecoming  as  anything  but  good  tidings. 
As  yet,  it  had  not  reached  the  white  cottage  near  the 
Latham  hedge  when  Jimmy  turned  his  face  toward 
that  district  which  lay  up  on  the  hill. 

The  Reverend  Watson  Duncan  was  busy  in  his 
study;  Mrs.  Duncan  had  breakfasted  in  bed,  and  the 
maid  who  answered  the  bell  was  uncertain,  but  she 
ushered  the  visitor  in. 

Mr.  Dodge's  recognition  of  the  wanderer  had 
been  a  thing  of  degrees,  though  more  or  less  voluble. 
Mr.  Duncan  recognized  his  step-son  instantly,  but 
he  did  not  speak  at  all.  Jimmy  made  no  move  to 
seat  himself,  yet  his  was  the  greater  ease. 

"I'm  sorry,"  the  old  drawling  note  of  apology  was 
uppermost,  "I'm  sorry  to  interrupt." 

Mr.  Duncan  maintained  a  stony  silence.    He  had 


MELODY  185 

changed  but  little  since  Jimmy  last  had  seen  him; 
his  parishioners  still  took  pride  in  their  dapper 
shepherd.  Standing  before  the  desk,  with  its  orderly 
litter,  as  simply  as  a  stranger  might  have  done  it, 
and  as  impersonally,  Jimmy  repeated  Pegleg 
Hanlon's  story,  but  he  knew  before  he  began  that  a 
stranger  would  have  had  a  better  chance  of  success. 
Yet  his  voice  remained  grave  and  somehow  gentle. 
His  very  quietness  goaded  Mr.  Duncan  to  speech. 

"Do  I  infer  correctly,"  he  demanded,  "that  you 
are  requesting  me  to  preach  this  woman's  funeral 
service?" 

When  he  left  Hanlon's  place  Jimmy  had  been 
uncertain.    He  told  himself  he  wanted  to  be  sure. 
"I  thought  perhaps  you  would,"  he  said,  "if  you 

were  to  understand "    But  he  was  sure  now.    He 

made  a  gesture,  stiff  and  singularly  hopeless. 

And  the  reverend  gentleman  beat  upon  the  table 
with  his  fist. 

"I  understand,  all  too  well,"  he  replied,  and  his 
voice  was  edged.  "Young  man,  it  is  you  yourself 
who  lacks  understanding  of  just  what  you  request. 
Six  years  ago  you  were  allowed  to  depart  from  this 
community  without  the  stigma  which  a  well-merited 
punishment  would  have  left  upon  you.  What  your 
life  has  been  in  the  interim  I  do  not  know,  nor  is 
it  material  in  this  matter.  But  I  tell  you  that  you 
will  find  your  situation  again  intolerable  if  you  mean, 
as  your  conduct  would  indicate,  to  remain  here  and 


1 86  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

resume  your  former  associations.  What  you  have 
asked  is  an  affront  to  me,  and  to  society,  which  has 
drawn  a  dead-line  which  must  be  maintained.  You 
refer  to  the  occurrence  as  pitiful.  I  can  only  reply 
yours  is  a  perverted  point  of  view.  If  that  is  all,  then 
you'll  excuse  me,  I  am  sure." 

Jimmy  Gordon  found  his  way  outside.  He 
stumbled  a  little  blindly  on  the  threshold,  and  as  he 
turned  down  the  street  he  heard  a  gasp  behind  the 
drawn  curtains  of  an  upstairs  window.  Until  that 
instant  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  to  inquire  concern 
ing  the  state  of  his  mother's  health. 

Four  times  that  morning  he  rang  other  clergymen's 
bells.  Four  time  he  repeated,  more  and  more  briefly, 
the  request  which  he  had  carried  first  to  his 
stepfather.  In  each  instance  his  appearance 
occasioned  vast  surprise  and  some  little  consternation 
until  he  admitted  that  he  had  already  seen  Mr. 
Duncan.  Thereupon,  unfailingly,  there  ensued  a 
relieved  reference  to  Mr.  Duncan's  seniority,  and  a 
polite  but  final  refusal. 

Jimmy's  voice  became  quieter  with  failure,  his 
jmanner  more  and  more  apologetic.  He  gave  up 
when  he  had  exhausted  those  four  possibilities.  And 
he  scarcely  saw  the  barouche  with  the  plum-colored 
cushions  which  swept  past  him  as  he  rounded  the 
corner  into  Main  Street,  clanging  now  and  cluttered 
with  traffic.  But  T.  Elihu  Banks  saw  him.  The 
Reverend  Watson  Duncan  was  riding  at  Mr.  Banks's 


MELODY  187 

side.  And  the  face  of  the  town's  great  man  was  a 
deeper  purple  than  the  cushions  upon  which  he  sat. 

Again  Pegleg  and  Jimmy  sought  the  table  in  the 
window. 

"I  should  have  known  better,"  Jimmy's  voice  was 
hard.  "I  would  have  let  you  go,  only  I  thought  I 
might  be  mistaken,  after  all.  I  thought  perhaps — " 

Pegleg  cut  him  short  with  savage  abruptness. 

" — An'  I  would  have,"  he  shot  back.  "I  would 
have,  without  your  suggestin'  it,  only  I  wanted  you  to 
learn  firsthand  something  which  ye  would  not  have 
believed,  had  I  told  it  to  you  six  years  ago.  You  were 
always  sure  that  'twas  yourself  that  was  the  wrong 
wan.  And  for  six  years  ye've  been  Heaven  knows 
where,  but  ye  seem  not  to  have  learned  yer  lesson. 
Pf ah !  'Tis  a  Christian  and  charitable  and  forgivin' 
community,  is  it  not,  that  could  not  risk  the  burial  ay 
wan  child  without  fearin'  defilement?  Ye'd  not  have 
listened  to  me.  Now  open  yer  eyes  and  look  about 
ye.  This  is  your  own  home  town !  Ye  can  go  now 
and  see  about  the  flowers." 

The  dreariness  was  gone  from  Jimmy's  face  when 
he  returned  a  second  time.  And  Pegleg  was  waiting 
for  him  with  a  huge  car  at  the  head  of  the  alley. 
Pegleg  handled  the  wheel  like  a  mariner  accustomed 
to  vast  expanses  in  which  to  navigate,  and  almost 
immediately  they  left  the  dust  of  the  city  behind  them 
for  the  cleaner  dirt  road  of  the  country.  As  they 
passed  the  cemetery,  high  on  a  ridge,  Hanlon  jerked 


1 88  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

his  thumb  toward  its  highest  knoll,  cut  by  the  dirt  of 
a  new  trench. 

Ten  miles  out  of  town,  at  a  crossroads  chapel,  the 
machine  was  stopped.  Hanlon  shouted  to  the  man 
who  was  hoeing  in  the  garden  behind  a  house  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  highway.  The  shirt-sleeved  one 
seemed  to  know  Hanlon  and,  stranger  still,  to  value 
his  friendship. 

"At  ten-thirty,"  he  promised  gravely,  when  Pegleg 
had  told  him  their  need. 

Back  at  Hanlon's,  when  he  went  upstairs  to  the 
room  which  had  been  his  once  before  for  a  brief 
tenancy,  Jimmy  found  Abel  Thompson  busy 
unpacking  a  trunk  and  smoothing  out  his  clothes. 
True  to  the  dramatic  instinct  of  his  race,  Abel  wore 
a  heavy  air  of  mourning,  though  this  had  not 
prevented  him  from  noticing  both  the  quality  and 
cut  of  Jimmy's  wardrobe.  He  was  shaking  out  a  suit 
of  homespun  with  much  admiration  when  Jimmy 
entered. 

"Afternoon,  seh,"  Abel  greeted  him.  "Afternoon, 
Mist'  Gordon.  Jes'  layin'  out  your  things,  seh.  If 
they's  anything  wrong,  bet'  jes'  tell  me  at  first,  seh. 
Somethin'  nice  and  quiet  and  da'k-colored,  I  s'pose, 
seh,  fob  to-morrow." 

Jimmy  thanked  him  abstractedly.  He  was  thinking 
about  his  legacy,  title,  property  and  good-will,  of 
which  Hanlon  had  apprised  him  on  the  ride  into  the 
country.  At  the  time  he  scarcely  noticed  the 


MELODY  189 

subdued  quality  of  Abel's  greeting,  which  he  would 
have  laid  to  the  need  for  "something  quiet"  under  the 
circumstances.  Later,  he  realized  that  Abel  had  in 
that  moment  announced  himself  as  general  man  and 
valet,  a  position  which  he  continued  to  fill  in  the  days 
that  followed. 

They  buried  the  girl  known  as  Melody  the  next 
morning,  from  the  large  room  downstairs.  Jimmy 
sat  far  to  the  back  during  the  service,  his  eyes  upon 
the  face  of  Blair,  the  young  minister.  He  nodded 
to  many  who  entered  and  gave  him  an  uncertain  nod 
of  greeting;  and  then,  little  by  little,  he  forgot 
entirely  the  odd  crowd  that  filled  the  room. 

Blair  spoke  briefly,  quietly,  and  with  little  gesture. 
He  did  not  preach  at  all;  he  just  talked — talked 
simply.  "Let  him  who  is  without  sin  among  you  be 
the  first  to  cast  a  stone,"  he  read  from  the  Bible 
before  him,  and  then  he  closed  the  book  to  tell  them 
how  little  of  real  hopelessness  there  was  in  their 
world,  how  much  of  simple  honesty  and  fairness  and 
honor. 

Listening,  Jimmy  forgot  even  himself.  Nothing 
remained  definite  except  the  voice  of  the  speaker  and 
an  intolerable  ache  in  his  own  throat.  They  had 
finished  singing — that  motley  crowd  of  men  who  had 
come  in  celluloid  collars  and  bunchy  coats,  and 
women  with  faces  startlingly  innocent  of  color — they 
had  filed  out,  and  Jimmy  was  still  standing,  marveling 
at  the  tenseness  of  those  voices  in  song,  when  a  hand 


1 90  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

touched  his  shoulder,  and  he  turned  slowly  around. 

He  knew  her  at  the  touch,  even  before  he  wheeled. 
He  stood  and  gazed,  without  knowing  how  white  and 
strained  were  his  lips,  upon  the  infinite  compassion 
in  Carol  Landis's  face.  And  suddenly  he  found  his 
mouth  too  dry  for  words. 

The  pressure  of  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  drew 
him  to  the  aisle. 

"I  want  to  go  in  your  carriage,  Jimmy,"  she 
imurmured,  "if  I  may." 

And  Warchester,  at  noon  that  day,  knew  a 
sensation  even  greater  than  the  passing  of  the  girl 
called  Melody.  They  saw  Jimmy  Gordon  bring 
"their  own  Miss  Landis"  back  to  the  cottage  at  the 
foot  of  the  orchard,  in  a  decrepit  public  hack,  after 
the  funeral.  They  noted  that  she  leaned  toward  him 
and  laughed  and  chattered,  and  seemed  to  find  great 
interest  in  his  plainly  embarrassed  replies.  Once  she 
put  a  hand  over  the  long,  thin  one  which  lay  between 
them  on  the  broken  upholstery — that  happened  just 
as  T.  Elihu  Banks  chanced  again  to  pass,  with  a  deep 
bow  for  her  and  a  flourish. 

Jimmy  took  her  home.  The  rest  of  the  afternoon 
he  sat  on  an  iron  bench  in  the  stone  court  behind 
Pegleg  Hanlon's  place — the  bench  nearest  the 
sluggish,  oil-besmeared  river.  And  Hanlon  saw  him 
still  there,  motionless,  when  he  came  downstairs  in 
the  morning.  More  than  that,  he  found  Abel 
Thompson,  the  gentleman  of  color,  head  bowed  on 


MELODY  191 

the  sill,  asleep  at  the  window  which  overlooked  the 
court. 

Abel  he  shook  awake,  but  the  latter  became 
evasive  to  a  degree  at  the  first  question. 

"I  dunno  what  I'se  doin'  heah,"  he  replied  airily. 
"Jes' — jes'  settin',  I  guess,  and  kinda  f  Jl  asleep." 

Hanlon's  eyes  were  keen.  At  that  moment  he  saw 
Jimmy  pick  up  a  fragment  of  concrete  and  toss  it  far 
out  into  the  water,  but  there  was  nothing  of  discour 
agement  in  the  action. 

"There  wasn't  any  need  of  it,"  Hanlon  said 
gruffly.  ''Don't  you  know  I'd  have  been  watchin'  if 
there  had  been?  Go  down  and  tell  Tivotson  to  get 
around  to  his  office — tell  him  Gordon's  in  town." 

Abel's  black  face  shone  again  with  its  accustomed 
depth  of  color.  Immediately  he  rose  and  went  to 
carry  out  the  order.  And  Hanlon  was  waiting 
unconcernedly  when  Jimmy  came  in  at  eight. 

"I  wonder  where  I  can  find  Tivotson?"  the  latter 
asked,  without  preamble.  "I  want  to  talk  things  over 
with  him.  Yesterday's  edition,  and  I  only  glanced  at 
it,  was  about  the  worst  thing  that  ever  came  out  of  a 
press." 

A  pulse  of  triumph  shot  across  Hanlon's  face. 
His  grip  crushed  the  slighter  man's  shoulders. 

"You're  goin'  to  stick,"  he  roared.  "You're  goin' 
to  stick !  Now,  by  God,  we'll  show  thim  some  civic 
reform." 

Abel,  that  morning,  proved  himself  capable  of 


192  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

greater  speed  than  anyone  hitherto  had  been  led  to 
believe  was  in  him.  He  found  Tivotson  and  delivered 
his  message  with  a  crispness  that  left  that  soiled  and 
unshaven  city  editor  speechless.  On  his  way  back 
he  paused  at  the  front  of  the  Palace  Theater  to 
tender  his  resignation.  There  was  only  one  attache 
about  at  that  hour,  one  of  Abel's  own  assistants,  a 
razor-back,  but  Abel,  nevertheless,  discharged  the 
formality  with  considerable  pomp  and  a  shade  of 
mystery. 

"I'm  affiliatin'  m'self  with  one  of  our  risin'  young 
business  men,"  was  all  he  deigned  to  explain;  and  he 
had  the  homespun  laid  out  when  Jimmy  Gordon 
finished  his  shaving. 

Abel  suggested  a  carnation  for  the  buttonhole  and 
chuckled  as  Jimmy,  rather  blankly,  refused.  And 
then,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  must  needs  go  by  a 
longer  way  around,  Abel  outstripped  his  employer, 
and  arrived  first  at  the  disreputable  block  which 
housed  the  Courier.  And  he  had  finished  scrubbing 
the  uneven  boards  of  the  lower  hallway  and  the 
stairs  before  T.  Elihu  Banks  arrived  that  morning. 

Abel  noted  that  T.  Elihu  breathed  hard  as  he 
conducted  him  up  the  flight  to  the  door  of  the 
editorial  rooms,  and  ushered  him  in.  It  was  a  half- 
hour  before  the  gentleman  of  color  came  out  of  his 
resultant  trance  and  remembered  the  pail  downstairs. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TIVOTSON 

IF  Jimmy  Gordon  had  entertained  high  hopes 
concerning  the  financial  or  physical  state  of  his 
heritage,  the  Courier,  the  first  half-hour  spent 
in  the  editorial  room  with  Tivotson  would  have 
dispelled  them,  just  as  effectually  as  did  his  first  sight 
of  the  room  itself  convince  him  that,  for  the  moment, 
the   premises   were   in   far   greater   need   of   Abel 
Thompson's  mop  and  pail  than  all  the  brilliance 
which  the  pen  of  a  journalist  new-fired  with  zeal 
might  be  supposed  to  bring. 

Tivotson,  the  "city  editor,"  had  preceded  the  new 
owner  of  the  paper  by  only  a  matter  of  minutes  that 
morning,  and  Jimmy  found  him  gazing  aimlessly 
about  the  littered  room,  obviously  struck  for  the  first 
time  in  months  by  its  mad  confusion,  and  worried  in 
a  half-sober,  wholly  lugubrious  way  by  the  cobwebs 
and  dust  and  dirt.  He  greeted  the  new  proprietor's 
entrance  in  a  manner  just  as  uncertain,  for  he  kept 
his  bloodshot  eyes  furtively  averted  and  made  no 
move  toward  offering  his  hand.  Tivotson's  opinion 
of  his  own  stewardship  for  many  years  had  not  been 
large,  but  the  realization  of  his  neglect,  suddenly 
forced  upon  his  notice,  twenty-four  hours  before  he 

193 


194  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

had  achieved  his  usual  weekly  sobriety,  appalled  him. 

"We're  a  little  upset  here  this  morning,  Mr. 
Gordon,"  he  husked  from  a  dry  throat.  We  weren't 
looking  for  you,  just  at  present." 

Jimmy  closed  the  door  and  followed  his  city 
editor's  gaze  about  the  room.  It  occurred  to  him 
that  Tivotson  was  stating  the  case  mildly — there  was 
scarcely  a  foot  of  floor  or  wall  that  was  clean — but  he 
found  more  to  interest  him  in  the  little,  shambling 
figure  before  him  than  he  did  in  the  heaped-up 
debris. 

"A  little  soap  and  water,  Tivotson,"  he  laughed 
softly,  "and  we'll  work  a  miracle."  He  stopped  to 
gaze  absently  at  the  other's  hawklike  face.  "And 
perhaps  that'll  serve  just  as  well,  for  a  time,"  he 
went  on,  musingly.  "Because  we  know  we  can 
achieve  cleanliness,  and — and  I'm  afraid  that  it'll 
be  quite  a  long  time  before  we  can  convince  a  good 
many  that  godliness  is  not  beyond  us,  eh?" 

The  slow  question,  tinged  with  whimsical  humor, 
brought  Tivotson's  head  up  in  spite  of  him.  Besides 
Abel  Thompson,  who  temperamentally  was  unfitted 
to  accept  Jimmy's  return  as  anything  but  a  triumph 
ant  reentry  of  the  city  of  his  youth,  Tivotson  was 
perhaps  the  only  soul  in  the  town  who  had  been 
fitted  by  circumstance  to  sense  the  change  that  eight 
years  had  wrought  in  the  returned  prodigal. 
Tivotson's  descent  had  been  slow,  and 
correspondingly  sure.  Eight  years  before  he,  too, 


TIVOTSON  195 

had  prophesied  dire  things  for  Jimmy  Gordon ;  now 
he  flushed  painfully,  when  he  found  the  latter 
smiling  down  at  him  in  a  fashion  as  fraternal  as  the 
spirit  of  his  words.  It  was  a  long  time  since  any  one 
had  held  out  a  hand  to  Tivotson,  except  casually 
now  and  then,  to  prevent  him  from  stumbling  and 
fetching  up  in  the  gutter,  which  as  a  general  rule 
ultimately  proved  his  destination  anyhow. 

Tivotson  flushed,  and  shook  hands.  And  Jimmy, 
noting  how  hard  he  tried  to  control  his  twitching  lids 
and  stiffen  his  slack  shoulders,  gave  no  sign  that  he 
saw.  Instead  he  cleared  a  space  on  a  desk,  one  that 
overlooked  the  upper  end  of  Front  Street,  seated 
himself  and  motioned  the  little  man  to  a  place  be 
hind  what  was  plainly  the  city  editor's  table. 

"Our  first  conference,  Tivotson,"  he  laughed 
again,  and  tilted  his  lean  length  far  back  in  his  chair. 
"Now,  what  are  our  precepts  and  policies?" 

At  that  abrupt  question  Tivotson's  none  too  tight 
mouth  fell  open,  until  he  was  made  aware,  this  time 
by  the  light  in  his  employer's  eyes,  that  again  the 
latter  spoke  lightly  and  with  facetious  intent. 
Thereupon  he,  too,  seemed  to  find  in  the  situation 
something  at  which  to  be  amused,  though  his 
amusement  was  grimmer  by  far. 

"Total  and  eternal  damnation,"  he  made  answer. 
"Having  been  damned,  without  reservation  or  hope 
of  redemption,  since  the  beginning  of  the  book,  we 


196  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

damn,  with  equally  cheerful  unanimity,  the  works  of 
those  who  reap  the  rewards  of  righteousness." 

But  instead  of  laughing,  Jimmy  only  smiled  ever 
so  quietly  as  he  gave  that  answer  a  moment  of 
thought.  Tivotson's  hot  eyes  were  upon  him 
questioningly  when  he  looked  up,  grave  of  a  sudden. 

"Believe  in  this  sweeping  damnation,  as  you  term 
it,  Tivotson?"  he  asked  musingly. 

Tivotson  sat  and  stared  hard  at  his  superior.  It 
was  eight  years  since  old  Dave  Landis  had  occupied 
that  chair,  eight  years  since  good-for-nothing  Jimmy 
Gordon  had  been  driven  out  of  town  by  the  weight 
of  public  opinion.  And  while  there  was  a  change  in 
him,  hard  to  define  but  very  certain,  in  that  moment 
Tivotson  found  the  boy's  mildness  unaltered. 

"I  believe  in  my  own,"  he  startled  himself  by  the 
words.  Then  he  gave  way  to  a  singularly  hopeless 
gesture.  "When  a  whole  town  has  been  telling  you 
that  you're  no  good,  for  as  long  as  you  can 
remember,  you  have  to  believe  finally,  don't  you?" 

Jimmy  spent  some  time  over  the  process  of  firing 
a  cigarette. 

"Do  you?"  he  asked  then,  very  quietly.  "That's 
what  I've  been  wondering — or  does  it,  sometimes, 
depend  upon  the  town,  as  well  as  the  individual? 
Because  I  was  almost  convinced,  eight  years  ago, 
Tivotson,  just  as  you  are  almost  convinced  now. 
Almost,  I  put  it,  do  you  understand?  Yet  there's 
one  fine  thing  about  being  at  the  bottom  of  a  well, 


TIVOTSON  197 

Tivotson.  One  can't  fall  any  farther."  He  paused 
and  seemed  to  treat  his  next  words  inconsequentially. 
"May  I  have  a  look  at  the  records,  if  you  have  any 
available?  I'd  like  to  know  just  how  badly  things 
stand." 

For  a  moment  Tivotson  did  not  move.  He  sat  with 
his  lips  moving  wordlessly,  as  if  repeating  the  other's 
words  in  a  desperate  effort  to  be  sure  of  their 
meaning.  Then  he  rose  and  with  a  wry  smile 
brought  a  list  of  paid-in  subscribers,  and  a  statement 
of  accounts  payable  and  bills  due.  The  latter  Jimmy 
laid  aside  after  a  brief  scrutiny;  he  knew  that  Pegleg 
was  a  business  man.  And  he  had  picked  up  the 
record  sheet  of  subscribers  to  whom  the  Courier  was 
delivered  each  day,  his  own  expression  had  waxed 
lugubrious  in  the  extreme  at  its  leanness,  when  T. 
Elihu  Banks,  ushered  up-stairs  by  Abel,  appeared 
that  morning  in  the  doorway.  So  it  was  coincidence 
as  trivial  as  that  which  established  the  key  of  an 
interview  which  was  to  prove  epochal  in  Warchester's 
history. 

For  T.  Elihu,  as  he  padded  across  the  threshold, 
was  quick  to  see  that  look  of  concerned  incredulity 
and  faint  dismay,  and  it  was  not  unlike  him  to  lay  it 
entirely  to  the  unexpected  honor  of  his  presence. 
Indeed,  it  helped  to  clear  his  own  face  of  a  heaviness 
as  close  akin  to  anxiety  as  he  ever  permitted  himself 
to  exhibit  in  public.  Jimmy  Gordon,  the  town's 
returned  reprobate  looked  somewhat  aghast.  The 


198  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

town's  great  man  permitted  himself  to  smile.  But 
there  was  real  reason  for  astonishment  in  the  quality 
of  the  latter's  greeting. 

"Keep  your  seat,  young  man,"  he  boomed,  as 
Jimmy  made  to  rise.  "Keep  your  seat.  A  busy  man 
can't  spend  half  his  time  jumping  up,  whenever  ever" 
Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  enters  his  office." 

But  Jimmy  straightened  his  long  length  and  came 
out  from  behind  his  desk.  In  rising  he  made  it  very 
easy  for  T.  Elihu  to  see  that  his  tweeds,  while  not 
unnecessarily  shabby,  were  nevertheless  lacking  in 
that  spruce  newness  which  was  typical  of 
Warchester's  younger  business  men  who  had 
achieved  success,  and  advertised  it  personally.  And 
it  seems  inconceivable  that  T.  Elihu  could  have  failed 
to  notice,  for  his  gaze,  which  darted  from  point  to 
point,  was  all  embracing.  Yet  T.  Elihu  was  holding 
out  a  hand,  again  to  Tivotson's  unutterable  amaze 
ment.  Jimmy  swept  the  room  with  a  brief  gesture, 
and  in  that  instant  his  manner  was  falteringly 
apologetic — that  old,  old  air  of  perpetual  apology 
which  until  then  had  escaped  Tivotson  and  vaguely 
baffled  him.  Then  the  prodigal  was  shaking  hands 
with  the  town's  great  man.  T.  Elihu  covered  the 
boy's  hand  with  his  free,  left  palm. 

"We're  very  badly  unsettled  here,  just  at  present, 
Mr.  Banks,"  he  repeated  Tivotson's  apology.  But 
there  he  dared  to  smile  uncertainly. 

"I  find  if  one  leans  against  anything,  one  acquires 


TIVOTSON  199 

immediately  a  veneer  of  cobwebs  and  whitewash. 
And  in  asking  you  to  be  seated,  I  beg  that  you  exercise 
some  care.  The  furniture  is  not  to  be  trusted." 

T.  Elihu  paid  so  little  attention  to  this  levity  that 
it  is  very  possible  that  he  did  not  hear  it  at  all. 
Instead,  he  stood  frowning  fiercely  into  the  boy's  thin 
and  familiar  face,  searching  it  keenly,  yet  with  a 
ponderous  good-nature,  for  the  fierceness  was 
feigned. 

"So  you've  come  back  again,  have  you,  young 
man!"  He  finally  shot  the  words  out.  "Back  to 
Warchester!  Any  objection  to  my  asking  why?" 

At  that  point  Jimmy  grew  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  T.  Elihu  had  not  released  his  hand,  and 
displayed  no  symptom  that  he  might  do  so,  in  the 
next  moment  or  two.  And  suddenly  the  thin  face 
turned  red. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  hesitated,  "in  view  of  the  fashion 
in  which  I  left  it,  the  only  answer  possible  is  obvious 
to  you.  I  went  away,  you'll  remember — well,  under 
a  cloud  is  the  phrase,  isn't  it?"  His  smile  was 
quickly  disarming.  "And  it's  my  own  home  town, 
you  know,  after  all — so " 

T.  Elihu  gave  the  imprisoned  hand  a  spasmodic 
shake  clearly  indicative  of  supreme  satisfaction,  and 
sought  a  chair. 

"Thought  so,"  he  growled.  "Thought  so!  Sit 
down — sit  down!"  And,  after  he  had  drawn  up 
nearer  the  desk:  "I  want  to  talk  to  you,  sir — plainly, 


200  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

sir,  I  am  a  plain  man.  That's  what  I  dropped  in 
for,  and  if  you've  any  objections — well,  you're  a 
nephew  of  mine,  young  man,  and  one  has  to  be  more 
or  less  charitable  toward  one's  presumptuous 
relatives." 

Astonishment  flickered  in  Jimmy  Gordon's  eyes  at 
this  further  peculiarity.  He  caught  it  mirrored  upon 
the  visage  of  Tivotson,  who  sat  like  a  man  turned  to 
stone.  And  then  he  was  smiling  again,  his  thin,  not 
very  mirthful  smile.  But  obediently  he  sat  down. 

"In  the  first  place,"  T.  Elihu's  bright  eyes  never 
left  Jimmy's  face,  "in  the  first  place,  sir,  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  yesterday  you  did  a  damned  fine  thing,  sir. 
A  splendid  and  noble  thing!" 

The  blankness  that  spread  across  Jimmy's  face  was 
not  feigned. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you've  made  a "  he  began. 

T.  Elihu  cut  him  short. 

"No  mistake  at  all,"  he  stated  flatly.  "None  at  all! 
Duncan  told  me  late  last  evening  of  this  unfortunate 
young  person  whose  funeral  you  arranged,  and  it's 
that  occurrence  which  brought  me  here  this  morning. 
Of  course,  the  request  which  you  made  of  your 
stepfather  was  out  of  the  question,  sir — out  of  the 
question,  as  you  no  doubt  will  agree,  upon  maturer 
thought.  But  the  spirit  behind  your  act  warrants 
commendation,  sir.  You  braved  the  opinion  of  an 
entire  community  to  act  according  to  your  convictions. 
And  when  I  know  that  a  man  has  done  that  I  need  no 


TIVOTSON  201 

further  credentials.  Since  you  have  already 
mentioned  an  unfortunate  occurrence  of  some  years 
ago,  I,  too,  will  speak  of  it,  though  such  was  not  my 
intention  when  I  entered.  You  made  a  mistake 
common  to  youth,  sir — I  am  older  than  you  and  you 
will  forgive  my  effrontery,  if  you  find  it  such.  You — 
cr — chose  many  unfortunate  associates,  harmless, 
perhaps  yet  most  desirable  in  the  eyes  of  our " 

"I  understand,"  Jimmy  interrupted  him.  "That  is 
one  of  the  things  I  hope  to  do.  I — I  owe  it  to  myself 
to  set  myself  right  with  our — "  he  barely  hesitated — 
"with  our  best  people." 

T.  Elihu  bowed  profoundly. 

"And  in  the  pursuance  of  your  enterprise  here,"  he 
ventured,  "you  have  already  decided  upon  a  definite 
policy." 

Some  of  the  perplexity  went  from  the  eyes  of  the 
new  proprietor  of  the  Courier.  Diffidence  before  T. 
Elihu's  surpassing  greatness  seemed  to  stride  upon, 
him. 

"None — yet,"  he  murmured.  "Mr.  Tivotson  tells 
me  that  we  have  for  some  time  been  content  with 
mechanically  supplying  the  opposition  to  any  question 
of  public  importance  which  may  arise.  I  have  no 
policy  yet,  but  we'll  try,  I  think,  to  print  a  paper 
which  will  make  as  direct  an  appeal  to  the  working 
people  as  the  Gazette  does  to  Warchester's  better 
classes." 

"A  decidedly  far-sighted  view,"  T.  Elihu  set  his 


202  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

seal  of  vast  approval  upon  the  scheme  in  one 
explosive  utterance.  "And  now  I  want  to  tell  you, 
sir,  that  when  a  man  starts  a  fresh  page,  I  am  not  the 
one  to  delve  back  through  the  records.  The  years 
have  improved  you,  sir — vastly — vastly!  And  you 
have  returned  to  Warchester  at  a  time  when 
opportunity  never  was  so  insistent.  We  shall  want 
you  with  us,  young  man — will  want  you  to  join  us — 
Wainwright  and  myself,  and  Willetts,  and  yes,  even 
Jameson." 

He  held  up  a  hand  as  Jimmy  attempted  to 
interrupt. 

"I  know,"  he  expostulated.  "You  need  attempt  no 
explanation,  my  boy.  You  are  a  free  agent ;  you  have 
under  your  direction  an  instrument  of  publicity,  the 
course  of  which  you  must  dictate  as  you  deem  best. 
But  there  are  many  factions,  many  questions  of 
exceeding  importance  with  which  I  believe  it  will  be 
advisable  for  you  to  familiarize  yourself,  before  you 
act.  Whenever  you  are  free  for  dinner,  young  man, 
I  want  to  talk  politics  with  you." 

T.  Elihu  rose  heavily  to  his  feet.  The  queer  smile 
had  left  Jimmy's  lips. 

"But  I "  he  said. 

"You're  busy  now,"  T.  Elihu  cut  in.  "You'll  have 
more  leisure  presently.  Come  when  you  can." 

And  with  that  Jimmy's  eyes  grew  quizzical. 

"I'll  take  pleasure  in  doing  so,"  he  said,  " — later, 
if  you  still  care  to  have  me." 


TIVOTSON  203 

In  the  doorway  T.  Elihu  paused.  Sufficient  time 
had  elapsed  to  cover  any  seeming  connection  between 
this  next  remark  and  his  expressions  of  good  wishes. 

"You've  work  on  your  hands,"  he  said,  uand  I  take 
it,  sir,  that  the  attempted  rejuvenation  of  this 
property  is  not  exactly  a  sentimental  or  philanthropic 
venture  on  your  part.  If  you  need  references,  call 
on  me."  He  turned  to  wink  jovially.  "I'll  tell  them 
that  you're  the  town's  lost  dog  come  back  again — but 
I'll  put  you  in  right.  You'll  be  busy,  but  if  you  want  a 
card  to  any  of  the  clubs,  let  me  know.  They  tell  me 
that  the  young  folks  golf  all  day  and  dance  till 
morning.  And  when  you're  a  bit  better  settled — 
come  and  see  me,  young  man." 

After  T.  Elihu  had  gone,  Jimmy,  who  had 
returned  to  his  desk  without  a  word,  sat  so  long,  lean 
chin  in  his  hands,  gazing  blankly  out  of  the  window 
that  Tivotson,  at  first  too  dumfounded  to  ask  the 
question  that  was  hanging  upon  his  lips,  grew  thirsty 
with  a  great  thirst  as  noon  came  about,  until  he  was 
hard  put  to  keep  his  own  place  behind  his  littered 
table.  He  dared  not  move  while  the  other  figure 
remained  so  silent.  And  yet  Jimmy  was  aware  of 
Tivotson's  growing  lack  of  self-control.  He  heard 
the  restlessly  moving  feet  and  caught,  from  the 
corners  of  his  eyes,  glimpses  of  the  white  and 
harassed  face.  It  was  Tivotson  about  whom  Jimmy 
was  thinking  most  in  that  long  period  of  quiet. 

"I'll    want   you  to    lunch    with   me,"    he    finally 


204  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

addressed  that  shabby,  small  person  with  kindly 
abruptness,  "with  me  and  Pegleg  Hanlon.  Do  you 
mind?." 

The  city  editor's  countenance,  white  and  hawklike 
and  angular,  underwent  a  remarkable  series  of 
changes.  It  became  furtive  and  cunning,  and  then 
sullen,  and  then  openly  perplexed.  But  he  reached 
for  his  hat  with  some  alacrity.  Any  company  was 
acceptable  to  Tivotson  at  that  moment,  in  any 
hostelry,  if  only  the  service  promised  to  be  prompt; 
and  he  was  in  no  mood  for  analysis. 

When  Jimmy  presented  him,  an  unnecessary 
formality,  to  the  grizzled  proprietor  of  the  hotel 
that  stood  in  the  hollow  square,  the  little  man's  dry- 
lipped  eagerness  prevented  him  from  noticing  that 
Pegleg's  welcome  was  inscrutable.  He  was  casting 
about  for  a  waiter.  And  he  had  achieved  partial 
control  of  his  nerves  and  was  turning  a  not 
unamiable  eye  upon  the  food  before  him,  when. 
Jimmy  reached  in  his  discourse  with  Hanlon  the 
question  which  Pegleg  was  waiting  to  hear. 

"So  he  has  made  me  an  offer  for  my  support, 
Pegleg,"  he  said.  "Now  I  want  you  to  tell  me  why 
— he's  been  four  times  mayor  of  Warchester — tell 
me  why  he  shouldn't  represent  us  at  the  capital.  Not 
personal  reasons,  Pegleg.  How  much  do  you  know  ?" 

Pegleg  shot  an  uncordial  glance  at  Tivotson,  who 
had  straightened  in  his  chair.  Then  he  laughed, 
hoarsely. 


TIVOTSON  205 

"Not  personal  reasons,  is  it?"  he  growled.  "I 
mustn't  complain,  I  nor  none  av  the  rest  av  us,  who 
have  tried  to  stay  within  the  law.  Thin  I'll  not,  till 
ye  learn  that  no  man  is  a  good  citizen  until  he  casts 
his  vote  for  a  personal  reason.  I'll  tell  ye  instead  to 
find  where  the  money  for  the  Main  Street  paving 
wint.  I'll  ask  ye  how  it  came  about  that  Wainwright 
and  Banks  and  Jameson  came  to  own  the  acres  they 
did,  a  month  before  the  franchise  for  the  new  line  to 
the  north  wint  through?  I'll  ask  ye  why — "  upon 
Pegleg's  baleful  face  there  came  a  look  of  swift 
recollection.  "Do  ye  remimber  wan  Whitey 
Garritty?"  he  demanded.  "The  wan  with  no  blood 
in  his  skin,  the  night " 

Jimmy  nodded  quickly.  He  was  watching  Tivotson 
while  seeming  to  have  eyes  only  for  Hanlon,  and  the 
city  editor's  face  was  full  of  the  keenest  interest. 

"He  wint  away  the  same  night  that  ye  seen  fit  to 
remove  yerself,"  Hanlon's  smile  was  little  removed 
from  a  snarl,  "but  he's  been  back  more  frequent.  An' 
he's  here  now,  on  bail,  fer  a  job  that  would  keep  him 
busy  for  the  next  ten  years,  in  anny  other  court.  But 
Garritty  is  a  clever  man.  If  ye'll  have  naught  to  do 
with  personal  reasons,  ask  district-attorney  Jameson 
why  his  case  will  be  dismissed — oh,  in  six  months,  or 
so?" 

Pegleg  finished  half  incoherent  with  rage,  yet 
Jimmy's  acceptance  of  his  complaints  was  almost 
casual. 


2o6  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"Maybe,"  he  mused  in  reply.  "How  are  you 
going  to  prove  it,  Hanlon,  if  it's  true?  It's  one  thing 
to  ask  where  the  money  for  that  paving  job  went — 
Tivotson,  here,  tells  me  we've  been  asking  just  such 
questions  for  the  last  half  dozen  years — but  it's 
another  thing  to  be  able  to  tell.  You  insist  that  there 
was  a  split-up  between  the  electric  crowd  and  the 
administration,  but  it's  another  thing  to  prove  it, — > 
isn't  that  true,  Tivotson?" 

For  one  instant  Pegleg  had  forgotten  to  glower 
with  rage.  He  was  listening  almost  breathlessly. 
Twice  the  little  city  editor  licked  his  lips  and  set  his 
jaw,  as  Jimmy's  hand  fell  intimately  upon  his  elbow. 
And  then  he  reached  uneasily  for  the  bottle. 

"A  fine  chance,"  exclaimed  Tivotson,  and  his  gasp 
of  relief  was  all  out  of  proportion  to  the  size  of  the 
drink  which  he  presently  consumed.  "A  fine  chance 
of  ever  getting  anything  on  that  bunch." 

Pegleg  Hanlon  sat  and  drummed  on  the  table  and 
stared  at  his  plate.  There  was  a  hint  of  disappoint 
ment  in  Hanlon's  attitude  quite  as  obvious  as  the 
city  editor's  bland  self-satisfaction.  But  Jimmy 
Gordon  appeared  far  from  displeased  with  the 
interview,  which  terminated  there,  more  abruptly 
than  it  had  begun. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  office  Tivotson  elaborated 
volubly  upon  the  iniquitous  cleverness  of  the  party  in 
power  which  argued  against  their  ever  being  haled 
to  justice.  He  wagged  his  head  over  the  matter,  and 


TIVOTSON  207 

waxed  out  of  breath,  for  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep 
pace  with  Jimmy's  long  stride. 

It  was  not  a  great  distance  from  Hanlon's  to  the 
Courier  office,  but  it  was  the  hour  most  favored  for 
lunch  by  a  large  portion  of  Warchester's  representa 
tive  citizens,  and  more  than  once  Jimmy  had  reason 
to  suspect  that  already  T.  Elihu  Banks  had  passed 
that  way.  Yet  he  found  more  amusement  in  the 
bearing  of  the  little  man  beside  him,  than  he  did  in 
the  exceeding  cordiality  of  the  greetings  which 
featured  his  passage  that  morning.  And  when  he 
realized  suddenly  that  Tivotson  was  the  only  one 
whom  he  could  remember,  who  had  evinced  an  open 
and  aggressive  pride  in  his  companionship,  he  slipped 
one  hand  inside  his  city  editor's  elbow.  Nor  was 
this  a  part  of  the  effort  in  which  he  and  Pegleg  had 
collaborated  at  lunch.  Already  he  was  certain  of 
how  much  Tivotson  knew.  He  was  remembering  how 
hungrily  he  had  once  watched  the  principals  strut 
across  the  stage,  and  wondered  at  his  own 
insignificance.  To  Tivotson  he  was  a  principal  now. 
He  felt  sorry  for  the  little  man. 

It  was  two  hours  after  he  reached  the  office  of 
tRe  Courier  before  Jimmy  looked  up  from  the  task 
to  which  he  set  himself  as  soon  as  he  had  reached  his 
desk.  Tivotson  had  been  watching  him,  curiously, 
while  he  worked,  and  the  latter  crossed  with  some 
haste  to  take  the  sheets  of  closely  written  copy  which 
Jimmy  held  out  to  him. 


208  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"To-morrow's  issue?"  he  asked,  though  the 
question  was  a  mere  matter  of  form. 

Jimmy's  brisk  nod  made  him  start. 

"Six  o'clock  extra,"  the  new  owner  of  the  Courier 
replied.  "Run  it  front  page,  scare-heads.  I  want 
every  man  who  passes  a  news-stand  to  see  and  read 
the  head-lines." 

Thereupon  Tivotson  set  himself  to  read,  but  he 
was  aghast  before  he  had  encompassed  a  single 
paragraph. 

"You're  going  to^run  this?"  he  stammered. 

Jimmy  Gordon  had  drawn  a  dog-eared  manu 
script  from  his  pocket  and  was  eying  it  strangely. 
His  answer  was  anything  but  animated. 

"Just  as  it  stands,  please,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

Tivotson's  very  body  seemed  to  shrink. 

"Why,  good  Lord!"  he  breathed.  "That— why, 
if  you  ever  try  to  get  into  his  house,  after  printing 
that — he — he'll  throw  you  out." 

"I  hope  he  does,"  said  Jimmy  cheerfully.  "If  I 
ever  try  to,  I  hope  he  does." 

The  city  editor  had  trouble  with  his  speech. 

"But  he — he  offered  you,"  he  managed,  and  then 
became  inarticulate. 

"An  entree  into  the  very  best  circles,  Tivotson, 
wasn't  it — social  and  financial?"  Jimmy  had  turned 
and  was  speaking  quickly  as  though  he  dared  not 
pause,  lest  he  lose  an  opportunity  for  which  he  had 
been  waiting.  "Do  you  know,  once  I  think  I'd  almost 


TIVOTSON  209 

have  sold  out.  On  my  honor,  I  believe  I  would,  had 
they  given  me  the  chance;  but  not  now,  Tivotson. 
That's  where  T.  Elihu  made  his  mistake — he  waited 
too  long.  You  see,  Tivotson,  I'm  no  longer  sure  that 
they  are  the  best  people.  Don't  look  so  horrified, 
man.  We'll  keep  it  a  secret,  and  my  opinion  is  only 
my  own.  I  guess  I  must  be  a  black  sheep  at  heart." 

But  Jimmy  smiled  over  the  confession;  he 
continued  to  smile  after  Tivotson  had  gone  from  the 
room  to  give  orders  for  the  first  extra  that  the  paper 
had  run  in  years.  And  he  was  leading  slowly  through 
the  blue-bound  first  act  which  once  he  had  carried  to 
Carl  Hardy,  the  ghost  of  a  grin  lurking  upon  his  lips, 
when  the  city  editor  returned.  Now  and  then  he 
stopped  to  stare  up  Front  Street,  now  and  then  he 
paused  to  make  a  careful  note.  Abel  Thompson 
looked  in  upon  him  several  times,  only  to  retreat, 
greatly  impressed  by  his  employer's  preoccupation. 
And  Jimmy  had  become  accustomed  to  the  opening 
and  closing  of  the  door,  and  gave  it  no  notice  when  it 
creaked  open,  again,  a  little  before  four. 

He  had  reached  the  first-act  curtain,  and  was 
nodding  absently  to  himself,  the  line  of  his  lips  faintly 
suggestive  of  mockery,  when  a  low  voice  brought 
him  to  his  feet. 

"Very  nice  editors  always  rise,  whenever  I  enter, 
Jimmy,"  it  said. 

Carol  Landis  had  come  on  lighter  feet  than  T. 
Elihu's.  She  stood  only  a  pace  away,  a  slender  and 


210  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

scarcely  taller  figure  than  that  one  which  the  boy  had 
surprised,  years  back,  before  the  mirror,  in  a  mad 
little  costume  of  black.  She  was  in  white  now,  from 
the  panama  upon  her  head,  to  the  high-heeled  pumps 
she  wore. 

Once,  on  that  other  occasion,  Jimmy  Gordon  had 
sulked  and  spoken  with  masculine  ungraciousness 
concerning  her  first  engagement.  And  now,  as  he 
rose,  he  was  only  awkward  and  embarrassed.  Which, 
after  all,  was  the  prettiest  compliment  that  he  could 
have  paid  her. 

"I  didn't  hear  you  enter,"  he  explained  soberly. 

Some  of  the  laughter  went  out  of  the  girl's  eyes. 
T.  Elihu  Banks'  scrutiny  had  been  frankly  and 
arrogantly  an  appraisal.  She  managed  hers  with 
more  kindness  and  more  tact,  yet  he  was  conscious  of 
it,  and  of  the  conclusions  at  which  she  arrived. 
Decidedly  hers  was  the  greater  ease. 

"There's  ink  on  your  cuffs,  Jimmy,"  she 
admonished  him,  "and  a  smudge  on  your  cheek  as 
usual.  Go  and  wash  yourself.  I  want  you  to  take  me 
out  to  the  club  to  tea." 

The  order  was  reminiscent  of  other  days  when  his 
obedience  had  been  ungallant  at  times,  but  always 
more  or  less  certain.  From  the  very  inconsequential 
ring  which  she  contrived  to  give  the  command  Jimmy 
knew  that  she  was  expecting  him  to  demur.  But  the 
thought  behind  his  momentary  hesitation  was  not  the 
one  which  she  suspected. 


TIVOTSON  211 

"As  your  guest,  Carol,"  he  said,  "if  you're  sure 
that  you — "  He  broke  off  there  to  give  way  to 
explanation.  "Mr.  Banks  dropped  in  this  morning  to 
welcome  me  home.  He,  too,  suggested  the  club, 
whenever  I  cared  to  avail  myself  of  his  kindness.  But 
I'm  afraid  that  after  five  o'clock  he  will  have  changed 
his  mind.  I'm  afraid  that  his  offer  will  have  been 
automatically  withdrawn." 

She  did  not  understand  as  thoroughly  as  she  might 
have,  had  she  read  the  sheets  which  Tivotson  had 
carried  out,  a  short  time  before,  to  the  press-room. 
But  she  sensed  the  depth  of  his  gravity.  And  when 
he  returned,  with  the  ink-smudge  removed  from  his 
cheek,  he  knew  that  she  had  been  talking  with  the  city 
editor,  even  though  it  was  of  the  dog-eared  first  act, 
with  its  freshly  penciled  corrections,  of  which  she 
spoke. 

"It's  the  one  that  you  took  to  Carl  Hardy,  years 
ago,  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 

As  he  nodded  she  rolled  the  script  up  and  tucked 
it  under  an  arm. 

"I  want  to  read  it — professionally,"  she  explained. 
"I'm  in  dire  straits  for  a  vehicle,  Jimmy." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  "COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA 

THAT  afternoon  Jimmy  Gordon  learned  just 
how  swiftly  the  news  of  T.  Elihu's  visit  to 
the  Courier's  office  had  gone  abroad.  And 
he  was  vouchsafed  some  inkling  of  the  fruits  which 
it  might  be  expected  to  bear. 

The  wide  veranda  of  the  Hills  Club  grew  very 
quiet  as  he  helped  "Warchester's  own  daughter"  to 
alight  from  the  public  conveyance  which  had  toiled 
with  them  up  the  long  grade,  but  in  the  silence  there 
was  only  a  vast  curiosity.  They  stared — the  half- 
score  of  men  and  girls  who  sat  at  wicker  tables 
beneath  the  striped  awnings — yet  their  regard  was 
far  from  that  with  which  they  might  have 
discouraged  an  interloper.  Indeed,  there  was  a 
certain  eagerness  upon  more  than  one  face,  which 
Carol  Landis  would  have  noticed,  had  she  not  been 
thinking  only  of  the  man  who  mounted  the  steps 
beside  her. 

That  afternoon  she  gave  all  the  skill  of  which  she 
was  capable  to  the  perfection  of  their  entrance,  with 
out  even  realizing  that  the  stage  had  already  been 
prepared  for  just  such  a  scene.  Her  hand  lay  upon 
the  prodigal's  sleeve  as  they  threaded  their  way  to  a 

212 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      213 

table  tucked  back  in  the  corner  of  the  veranda ;  she 
talked  blithely  and  laughed  up  into  his  face  as  he 
seated  her.  And  it  was  not  until  the  steward  had 
come  and  gone  that  she  looked  up  and  learned  from 
the  look  in  his  eyes  that  he  knew  how  hard  she  had 
been  trying  to  make  it  easy  for  him. 

"I  began  to  know  how  kind  you  were,  yesterday," 
he  thanked  her.  "This  afternoon  the  lesson  is 
complete.  But  I — I'd  rather  you  didn't  feel  sorry 
for  me,  any  longer."  His  eyes  swept  the  nearer  table, 
meaningly.  "Apparently,  and  I  needed  no  such 
corroboration,  I'm  a  much  to  be  envied  man." 

She  grew  warmly  self-conscious  at  that — and  then 
the  arrival  of  Sidney  Banks  at  their  table  cut  short 
her  rejoinder.  Sidney  had  come  as  rapidly  as  he  was 
able,  direct  from  the  courts.  Feet  wide-spread,  he 
stood  huge  and  hot  and  high-colored,  and  left  no  one 
in  that  vicinity  ignorant  of  the  degree  or  the  phrasing 
of  his  welcome.  More  than  that,  he  seated  himself 
and  remained  until  Carol  Landis  dismissed  him,  so 
firmly  that  he  could  not  maintain  longer  his  jovial 
refusal  to  go.  And  his  was  the  example  which  the 
rest  followed.  Men  drifted  over  from  neighboring 
tables.  They  stopped  on  their  way  from  golf-course 
to  refreshment,  for  a  hand-shake  and  a  word  or  two. 
But  the  girl  found  the  expression  which  settled  upon 
the  face  of  the  man  across  from  her  at  length 
impossible  to  be  endured  in  silence. 

"Not  in  bitterness,  Jimmy,  boy,  I  beg  you,"  she 


214  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

whispered.     "Oh,   you  haven't   forgotten  how  to 
laugh!" 

Color  stained  his  cheeks  at  that.  Once  or  twice 
before  then  he  had  taken  his  watch  from  his  pocket. 
He  looked  up  from  it  now  so  abruptly  that  Carol 
turned  to  follow  his  gaze,  which  had  gone  beyond 
her.  A  car  had  drawn  up  in  the  driveway;  a  tall  and 
black-haired  girl,  ineffably  cool  and  possessed,  was 
coming  up  the  steps,  bowing  crisply  to  those  who 
called  out  in  greeting.  And  suddenly  Carol  found 
much  of  interest  in  the  grounds  within  her  cup. 

"Miss  Evelyn  Latham,  Jimmy,"  she  murmured. 
"But  of  course  you  remember.  And  I  shall  not  mind, 
very  much,  if  you  go  over  to  speak  to  her — if  you're 
not  gone  too  long." 

But  Evelyn  Latham  was  already  approaching 
their  table,  with  Lloyd  Jameson,  fatter  even  than  he 
had  been  eight  years  before  and  somehow  chastened 
in  bearing,  following  as  closely  as  his  bulk  would 
permit.  In  the  tall  girl's  salute  and  that  of  her 
companion,  both  Carol  and  the  man  to  whom  they 
were  addressed,  found  a  quality  different  from  those 
which  had  gone  before. 

"You  are  Jimmy  Gordon,  of  course."  She  spoke 
with  exceeding  abruptness.  "You  used  to  watch  me 
from  your  window."  She  laughed  coolly  as  Jimmy 
flamed  red.  "I  might  have  been  more  appreciative 
once,  but" —  and  she  stopped  to  shrug  her  shoulders. 
"We're  giving  a  dance  to-morrow  night  for  the 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      215 

usual  crowd.   Will  you  please  come,  Mr.  Gordon." 

She  had  turned  away  before  he  could  reply,  and 
was  speaking,  still  with  her  odd  abruptness  to  Carol. 
And  then  Jimmy  found  Lloyd  Jameson  facing  him. 
Lloyd's  face  was  shamed. 

"If  I  were  you, Gordon,"  he  said  heavily,  "and  you 
were  me,  I  suppose  I'd  turn  my  back  upon  you.  But 
— but  maybe  you're  more  generous.  I  played  you 
very  dirty  once,  but  do  you  mind  shaking  hands  with 
me  and  letting  me  tell  you  that  I'm  almost  as  sorry  as 
I  am  ashamed?" 

Jimmy  did  not  know  how  to  reply,  and  Evelyn 
Latham's  brusqueness  saved  him  the  need. 

"Miss  Landis  promises  to  bring  you  to-morrow 
night,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said,  "if  it  is  possible. 
Come  along,  Lloyd.  Did  I  hear  you  trying  to 
apologize  for  something  again?" 

As  directly  as  she  had  come,  she  returned  to  the 
car,  and  in  going  she  left  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of 
all  observers  of  what  her  errand  had  been.  There 
was  a  maliciously  mischievous  glint  in  Carol's  eyes 
after  her  departure. 

"The  fairy  princess,  Jimmy,"  she  whispered,  "so 
I'm  afraid  that  my  afternoon  is  spoiled.  She 
remembered,  you  see !  I'm  asking  you,  tearfully,  to 
take  me  home." 

His  smile  was  so  apologetically  like  that  of  the 
boy  she  had  known  in  other  years  that  it  hurt  her. 
He  was  looking  at  his  watch  again  as  he  rose. 


216  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"There'll  be  a  lot  of  them  who'll  have  forgotten 
that  they  ever  knew  me  by  this  time  to-morrow,"  he 
answered  whimsically.  "There's  no  coach  waiting, 
Carol — not  even  a  pumpkin — and  I  ordered  that  driver 
for  five.  I  think  if  you  don't  mind  walking,  perhaps — 

This  time  it  was  he  who  broke  off  to  turn  and 
follow  the  direction  of  her  gaze.  Sidney  Estabrook 
Banks  had  appeared  at  that  instant  from  within,  his 
face  frightfully  congested.  He  took  a  step  in 
Gordon's  direction,  and  stopped.  He  would  have 
spoken,  and  seemed  to  think  better  of  that  impulse 
and  sneered  instead.  And  when  he  wheeled  and 
spoke  rapidly  to  several  who  had  risen  in  consterna 
tion,  Carol  looked  bewilderedly  up  into  Jimmy's  face. 

"Do  you  mind  letting  me  stay?"  he  asked. 

It  was  the  tall,  thin  figure  in  shabby  tweeds  who 
contrived  a  graceful  exit,  but  the  face  was  very  white. 

"Not  even  a  pumpkin  coach,"  he  murmured  again, 
as  they  crossed  the  lawn  and  cut  over  the  fields 
toward  town.  "I  stayed  too  late."  He  wheeled  then, 
fiercely  vehement:  "I'm  sorry."  He  was  breathing 
hard.  "That  was  humiliating,  for  you."  And  then, 
with  an  edge  to  his  laughter:  "Tivotson's  extra  must 
be  on  the  street." 

Half  the  way  home  he  was  so  moodily  apologetic 
that  she  could  not  rage  at  him  as  she  had  in  other 
years.  But  when  he  spoke  at  length  concerning  T. 
Elihu's  visit  that  morning,  she  thought  to  see  the 
opening  for  which  she  had  hoped. 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      217 

"Then  why  did  you  refuse?"  she  demanded  hotly. 
"If — if  all  that — "  she  flung  her  head  back  toward 
the  club-house  from  which  they  had  come — "if  all 
that  means  so  much  to  you,  why  didn't  you  accept  it 
at  their  terms?" 

The  mild  astonishment  which  that  outburst  evoked 
surprised  her. 

"Means  so  much  to  me,"  he  echoed.  And  then  he 
seemed  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  her  speech.  "Perhaps 
it's  because  I'm  still  uncertain,  Carol,  whether  they'd 
have  me,  at  any  rate." 

That  brought  an  angrier  light  to  her  eyes.  But 
when  he  would  have  taken  leave  of  her  at  the  door  of 
the  cottage  which  was  no  longer  drably  in  need  of 
paint,  she  refused  to  let  him  go. 

"I'm  tired  of  dining  alone,  Jimmy,"  she  said,  "and 
you've  not  told  me  anything  about  yourself.  Do  you 
mind  staying?" 

He  smiled  wistfully. 

"Do  you  mind  letting  me  stay?"  he  asked. 

And  with  that  she  slipped  her  hand  into  his  and 
clung  tight  to  his  fingers. 

"It's  only  yesterday,"  she  said  in  a  small  voice. 
"You've  grown  taller,  Jimmy,  and  your  clothes  still 
have  that  miraculous  appearance  of  having  been 
made  for  you  alone,  but  you've  not  grown  up.  Will 
you  wait  oat  here  for  me.  There  are  things  to  read, 
if  you  wish.  I'll  be  back  as  quickly  as  I  can."  She 
paused  in  the  doorway  and  flung  him  a  persistently 


2i 8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

cheerful  backward  glance.  "You've  not  told  me  yet, 
Jimmy,  that  I've  become  something  of  a  beauty,"  she 
laughed.  "I  doubt  if  there  is  anybody  else  in  town 
who  hasn't  told  me,  several  times  at  least." 

She  was  gone  before  he  could  answer,  and  he  sat 
immobile  during  her  absence.  Nor  did  he  realize 
how  long  she  really  was,  or  find  the  waiting  irksome. 
'And  when  she  came  quietly  down-stairs,  the  white 
costume  changed  for  a  frock  of  palest  green,  she 
stood  for  a  long  moment  or  two  in  the  doorway,  a 
tiny  pulse  growing  and  growing  in  her  throat  as  she 
watched  his  face.  Then  he  heard  her  step;  he 
wheeled  and  saw  her  standing  there.  And  before  his 
awkward  speechlessness  she  dropped  her  head. 

"That  is  pretty,  Jimmy,  and — and  very  flattering," 
she  murmured.  "You  could  not  have  made  it — more 
sincere." 

She  led  the  way  inside  to  a  small  round  table  laid 
for  two.  She  watched  him  sweep  that  changed  front 
room  with  a  glance. 

"Like  it?"  she  asked.    "I  did  most  of  it  myself." 

"It's  like  you,"  he  replied,  and  he  spoke  so 
diffidently,  that  she  blinked  back  a  suspicious  mois 
ture  with  some  haste.  But  when  she  tried  to  turn  the 
conversation  into  that  channel,  she  found  that  he 
would  not  talk  about  himself.  And  then  she  found 
fresh  cause  for  astonishment  in  his  familiarity  with 
what  she  laughingly  referred  to  as  her  career. 

Lips  parted  and  face  eagerly  forward-thrust  she 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      219 

leaned  toward  him  in  the  candlelight  while  he 
reviewed  it,  step  by  step. 

"I  missed  the  'Satin  Slipper,'  "  his  statement  was  so 
painfully  self-conscious  that  her  bubbling  laughter 
interrupted  him — "the  opening  night  here  in 
Warchester,  that  is.  But  I  saw  it  the  next  week  in 
Providence.  And  the  rest  of  them,  one  way  or 
another,  mostly  from  the  balcony,  I  managed  to 
witness  on  their  first  nights.  Then  you  went  West  in 
stock ;  that  was  three  years  ago.  Then  you  surprised 
them  in  Hardy's  'Three's  a  Crowd';  then 
'Intoxication.'  And  now  they  say  you'll  be  a  star,  I'm 
told  Carl  Hardy " 

Her  eyes  had  become  very,  very  bright  during  that 
recital. 

"Your  flowers  came,  that  night  we  opened  here  in 
the  Palace,"  she  said,  and  then  lips  curled,  she  leaned 
even  nearer  until  the  points  of  light  tinted  dully  the 
bronze  of  her  bright  head  with  gold.  "I've  never 
thanked  you  for  them  until  now.  But  now  I  thank 
you,  oh,  greatly.  But  there's  one  thing  you've 
forgotten  Jimmy.  Don't  you  remember  that  night 
you  took  me  to  rehearsal — the  first  night  after  you'd 
come  home,  to  find  I'd  finally  decided  to  go  ?  Don't 
you  remember  my  prophecy?" 

He  opened  his  lips,  but  she  would  wait  for  no 
answer. 

"Well,  here  we  are!"  she  rushed  on,  and  she  flung 
out  both  arms  in  an  ecstatic  little  gesture  that 


220          HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

embraced  them  both.  "Don't  you  see,  Jimmy,  the 
table  for  two — and  the  candles — and  no  flowers  to 
bother  at  all.  And  I — I  need  a  play?" 

And  with  that,  suddenly  and  inexplicably,  she  was 
very  near  again  to  tears.  He  was  trying  very  hard  to 
play  up  to  her  lead. 

"Only  you  promised  to  be  very  haughty  at  first,"  he 
reminded  her  slowly,  "and  instead " 

"I  find  it  too  difficult  a  role,  Jimmy,"  she  replied. 
"I've  read  that  first  act  again.  Did  you  think  I  was 
dressing  all  that  time  ?  And  I  daren't  be  too  haughty 
for  fear  you'll  carry  it  to  a  more  appreciative 
leading  lady."  She  waited,  and  toyed  with  the  silver. 
"You — you  haven't  given  up  trying,  have  you?"  she 
asked.  "It  isn't  just  Warchester  and  Warchester's 
approval  that  you  want,  is  it?" 

But  now  that  he  was  looking  at  her  she  would  not 
meet  his  eyes. 

"You  like  it?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"Yes!" 

"Honestly,  you  believe  that  it  is  worth  finishing?" 

"Yes — yes,"  she  flung  back  at  him.  "I  know  it.  I 
want  to  send  it  to  Mr.  Hardy  again,  if  you'll  have 
a  copy  made  for  me.  Will  you?" 

"I'll  have  it  copied  to-morrow,"  he  promised. 

And  he  led  her  so  surely  into  a  discussion  of  a 
further  development  of  that  one  act  that  she  believed 
it  was  she  who  was  leading  him  away  from  less 
pleasant  thoughts.  Several  hours  later  she  let  him  go 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      221 

only  after  he  had  promised  to  start  upon  a  second  act 
before  the  week  was  old.  She  watched  from  behind  a 
drawn  shade  and  saw  that  he  stood  long  after  she 
had  closed  the  door,  his  head  bared.  Before  her 
mirror  she  found  that  her  eyes  were  wet.  She  wrote 
Carl  Hardy  a  glowing  letter  concerning  a  playwright 
of  great  promise  whose  work  she  meant  to  bring  to 
notice  before  many  days. 

And  Jimmy  Gordon  had  made  his  way  through 
barbed-wire  fence  and  orchard  and  come  out  before 
the  Latham  hedge,  before  he  had  any  clear  recollec 
tion  either  of  his  whereabouts  or  his  destination. 
He  had  been  content  merely  to  walk,  and  habit  had 
led  the  way,  but  there  he  stopped  suddenly,  in  the 
shadow,  a  chance  audience  of  a  bit  of  drama,  realistic 
in  the  extreme,  which  was  being  enacted  across  the 
way. 

The  door  of  T.  Elihu  Banks'  great  brick  house 
opened  and  shot  a  stream  of  pale  light  out  into  the 
night.  T.  Elihu's  huge  body  stood  framed  in  the 
doorway;  the  patch  of  radiance  revealed  before  him 
a  smaller,  shambling  figure  in  ill-fitting  clothes.  The 
latter  seemed  to  find  difficulty  with  his  lines.  T. 
Elihu  supplied  the  action  of  the  scene.  Jimmy 
Gordon  watched  him  swing  Tivotson  by  the  scruff  of 
his  neck  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  and  kick  him  toward 
the  sidewalk.  T.  Elihu  seemed  to  be  talking.  Then 
he  turned  and  closed  the  door. 

A  moment  later  Jimmy  assisted  his  city  editor  to 


222  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

his  feet.  Together  they  turned  their  steps,  without 
haste,  for  Tivotson  had  need  to  travel  slowly,  toward 
the  Courier  office  downtown.  And  neither  the 
proprietor  of  that  sheet,  nor  its  city  editor,  noticed 
that  they  left  lying  there  upon  T.  Elihu's  lawn  where 
it  had  fallen  from  the  latter's  pocket,  a  red-headlined 
copy  of  the  first  extra  that  the  Courier  had  run  in 
years. 

The  walk  back  to  the  Courier  office,  toward  which 
the  owner  of  that  ill-famed  sheet  and  its  ill-favored 
editor  turned  their  steps,  was  accomplished  in  silence; 
but  Jimmy  sensed  the  outburst  to  come  in  Tivotson's 
stifled  breathing. 

The  brisk  walk,  assisted  by  the  night  air,  completed 
the  process  which  the  point  of  T.  Elihu's  right  boot 
had  begun.  And  Tivotson  was  sober  enough  to 
mount  the  stairs  to  the  upper  editorial  room  without 
assistance,  in  spite  of  the  blackness  of  the  passage 
way,  when  they  finally  reached  that  destination.  In 
truth,  he  did  stumble  over  the  threshold;  he 
blundered  with  a  crash  into  a  chair  as  he  groped  for 
his  desk  in  the  darkness.  But  that  was  due  to  no 
unsteadiness  of  foot.  And  Jimmy  barely  smothered 
a  gasp,  as  he  found  the  button  and  switched  on  the 
light. 

The  city  editor's  eyes  were  glazed  and  fixed ;  there 
was  a  cut  across  one  eyebrow,  not  deep  or  dangerous, 
but  none  the  less  distinctly  far  from  decorative. 
Mud  he  had  acquired  liberally  and  lost  his  hat;  and 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      223 

his  collar,  guiltless  of  tie,  being  loose  from  the  band 
of  his  shirt,  hung  in  a  waggish  flapping  curl  above 
one  ear. 

Yet  it  was  the  disorder  of  the  man's  face  and  not 
that  of  his  habiliments,  which  amazed  his  employer, 
who,  in  a  degree,  had  been  prepared  for  some  such 
spectacle.  Tivotson  was  indeed  sober  when  he  should 
have  been  very,  very  drunk,  considering  all  that  he 
had  consumed  since  the  five  o'clock  extra  appeared  on 
the  streets,  but  his  face  was  twisted  and  alarmingly 
white  with  the  shock  which  had  sobered  him. 

A  very  certain  change  had  taken  place  in  Tivotson. 
It  was  self-evident  in  the  little  man's  shambling,  slack 
body,  which  was  slack  and  shambling  no  longer. 

For  many  years  his  illusions  concerning  himself 
had  been  anything  but  rapt.  It  was  in  another 
quarter  that  his  sentiments  had  suffered  a  violent 
readjustment.  And  then,  with  startling  suddenness, 
out  of  complete  quiet,  he  began  to  laugh. 

At  the  first  hysterical  cackling  Jimmy  Gordon 
whirled  in  his  own  chair  near  the  window.  He  had 
heard  men  break  down  with  just  such  laughter,  just 
before  they  began  to  scream  with  terror,  and  he  was 
half-prepared  to  find  his  city  editor  climbing  upon  the 
desk,  or  shudderingly  covering  his  eyes  from  visions 
which  most  heartily  he  did  not  want  to  see.  But 
when  he  turned,  Tivotson  was  still  in  his  place,  his 
face  gaunt  and  ghostly  and  strained  in  the  half-light. 

And  he  continued  to  laugh  shrilly,  with  no  mirth  in 


224  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

the  high-pitched  cachinnations,  until,  from  very 
heartlessness,  he  could  laugh  no  longer. 

"No  proof !"  he  chuckled  then  huskily,  and  Jimmy's 
own  body  tautened  as  he  realized  that  Tivotson  was 
harking  back  to  their  luncheon  conversation  at 
Hanlon's.  "No  proof!"  And  with  that  he  needs 
must  laugh  again  until  he  choked.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  he  looked  his  employer  squarely  in  the  eye. 

"I'm  sober,"  he  assured  that  silent  figure.  "Cold 
sober." 

Jimmy  nodded. 

Tivotson's  next  words  seemed  in  the  nature  of  a 
mental  digression. 

"Banks  kicked  me  off  his  front  steps  a  while  ago," 
he  said  vaguely,  but  the  vagueness  was  in  no  way 
reassuring  so  far  as  Tivotson's  sentiments  toward  the 
gentleman  mentioned  were  concerned. 

"I  happened  to  be  watching,"  said  Jimmy  simply. 
,"I  helped  you  up." 

It  was  Tivotson's  turn  to  nod. 

"That's  so,"  he  mused.    "I'd  forgotten." 

'A  pause  ensued. 

"Any  idea  why  I  was  calling  upon  our  esteemed 
fellow  townsman?"  he  inquired,  with  an  odd  mixture 
of  woebegone  defiance  and  level-eyed  bitterness. 

"None  whatsoever,"  Jimmy  lied  gravely. 

"I  went  up  to  tip  him  off  that  you  were  going  to 
get  him  if  you  could.  I  went  up  to  tell  him  that  you 
said  you  hoped  he'd  kick  you  out  if  you  ever  tried  to 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      225) 

enter  his  house."  He  pointed  to  a  copy  of  the  after 
noon  extra.  "As  if  that  wasn't  enough!  But  I'd 
forgotten — that's  how  drunk  I  was.  And — " 
Tivotson's  voice  grew  almost  ruminative — "and  he 
kicked  me  out  instead.  That's  funny,  isn't  it?  But 
you  don't  know  yet  how  funny  it  is.  I've  been  selling 
this  sheet  out  to  T.  Elihu  Banks  for  the  last  ten  years 
— selling  anything  that  was  worth  a  dollar  to  T. 
Elihu,  hours  before  it  was  printed.  And  I  was  going 
to  sell  you — that's  the  kind  of  a  dog  I  am — the  same 
day  you  shook  hands  with  me  and  treated  me  like 
something  human.  But  he  kicked  me  off  his  steps, 
just  because  he  had  to  have  something  to  kick,  and 

I  was  handy.  And  why  not?  Wouldn't  a  dog  like 
me  come  around  again  the  next  morning — thirsty — 

and  whining  for  more  ?" 

Jimmy's  eyes  had  fiever  left  Tivotson's.    When  he 
perceived  that  the  latter  was  awaiting  a  reply,  he 

grinned  a  little  crookedly. 

"I  don't  know — would  he?"  he  murmured. 
Tivotson  ignored  his  question.    He  had  picked  up 

the  copy  of  the  extra  and  was  reading  from  it  with 

savagely  satirical  mockery. 
"How  DID  You  GET  AWAY  WITH  IT,  T.  ELIHU  ?" 

he  drawled  the  huge  headline,  and  then  he  attacked 

with  the  same  dangerously  shaken  voice  the  body  of 

the  short  but  sensational  text. 

"To-day  the  Courier  had  the  unexpected  honor  of 

playing  host  to  T.  Elihu  Banks,  talked  of  as  a 


226  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Senatorial  possibility.  The  esteemed  gentleman 
called  upon  us  in  person,  and  while  the  Courier,  as  it 
assured  him,  is  not  yet  in  the  political  market,  there 
is  one  question  vital  to  us  which  we  would  like  to  ask. 
Nothing  so  far  removed  as  a  Senatorial  nomination 
interests  us — that  is  to-day.  We  are,  as  is  perhaps 
well  known,  only  about  two  jumps  ahead  of 
bankruptcy.  Yet  we  are  hopeful.  After  having  given 
the  Traction  franchise  deal,  the  Main  Street  paving 
deal,  etc.,  a  cursory  examination,  we  take  courage. 
There  seems  to  be  easy  money  to  be  made  at  home, 
if  one  only  knows  the  ropes.  How  should  we  proceed 
to  get  away  with  it,  T.  Elihu?" 

When  Tivotson  finished,  Jimmy  was  smiling. 
"I  rather  like  that  paragraph.     But  you  should 
have  known  better  than  to  go  near  him  to-night,"  he 
admonished  his  city  editor  with  whimsical  gravity. 
"I  don't  think  we  pleased  T.  Elihu,  do  you?" 

"Why  don't  you  throw  me  out  of  the  window?" 
Tivotson  mumbled  numbly  in  reply. 

And  suddenly  the  ache  in  the  little  man's  eyes  was 
so  dull  and  dispirited  a  thing  that  Jimmy  could  not 
sit  and  watch  it.  He  rose  and  crossed  and  dropped 
both  hands  on  the  drooping  shoulders. 

"We  black-sheep  must  stick  together,  Tivotson," 
he  repeated  his  words  of  the  day  before.  "It's 
positively  our  only  chance  in  Warchester." 

With  that  Tivotson's  breakdown  was  absolute. 
Jimmy  went  back  to  his  window  and  waited.  And  at 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      227 

last,  when  quiet  had  come  again,  he  felt  Tivotson 
looking  at  him.  He  spoke  without  lifting  his  chin 
from  his  hand. 

"You  spoke  of  proof,  Tivotson,"  he  said.  "Do 
you  feel  sure  you  could " 

He  got  no  further  with  his  tentative  question. 
Tivotson  interrupted  him. 

"Proof!  Sure!  Didn't  I  get  my  bit?  Wasn't  I 
in  on  every  deal  ?  Don't  I  know  what  Latham  split, 
and  Banks — and  District  Attorney  Jameson — yes, 
and  Wainwright,  too  ?  Washington,  eh !  Washing 
ton  !  Why,  I'm  going  to  send  those  crooks  to  jail !" 

Tivotson  stormed  up  to  his  climax  with  a  wrath 
so  righteous  that  Jimmy  could  no  longer  control 
himself.  He  gave  way  to  immoderate  laughter  that 
left  him  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  Tivotson  sat  watch 
ing  him  with  an  appreciative  grin. 

"I  told  you  it  was  funny,"  he  said. 

"It  is,"  Jimmy  answered,  when  he  gained  self- 
control,  "only — only  there's  one  flaw  in  your 
beautifully  benevolent  plan.  You'd  be  likely  to  go, 
too,  you  see." 

The  grin  was  wiped  from  Tivotson's  face,  and  an 
almost  injured  look  replaced  it. 

"But  that's  the  joke — that's  the  funny  part  of  it," 
he  answered.  "Won't  I  have  a  select  coterie  of 
Warchester's  best  people  to  keep  me  company?" 

Jimmy  gave  it  up  and  again  succumbed  to  mirth. 

"Now  I  know  you're  sober,  Tivotson,"  he  said. 


228  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"Your  sense  of  humor  is  delicious,  if  you'll  pardon 
the  word.  To  show  my  appreciation  I'd  ask  you  to 
step  out  and  have  a  drink  with  me  only  I  suppose  you 
aren't  drinking  any  more,  are  you?" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  he  stammered  ludicrously. 
"Ami?" 

"I  took  it  for  granted  that  you  weren't,  for  a  time, 
at  least.  If  I'm  wrong " 

Tivotson  waved  a  lean  hand,  hungry-eyed  but 
game. 

"Just  as  you  say,"  he  agreed.  "It's  immaterial 
anyhow.  If  I  get  what  I  hope's  coming  to  them,  it'll 
be  a  long,  long  drought  for  me." 

"True  enough,"  replied  Jimmy,  but  he  seemed  to 
be  thinking  of  something  else.  "And  yet  I'm  afraid 
you'll  have  to  forego  that  hope.  I  need  you  here, 
Tivotson.  I  can't  spare  you,  just  now.  I  need  your 
saving  sense  of  humor." 

The  pallid  little  man  stiffened. 

"He  kicked  me  off  his  front-steps,"  he  reminded 
the  other,  stubbornly,  "I've  got  to  get  him." 

"We'll  get  him,"  said  Jimmy — and  his  next  words 
puzzled  his  city  editor — "and  who  could  ask  for  a 
better  second  act  curtain  than  that?" 

Tivotson  blinked. 

"Huh?"  he  asked. 

Jimmy's  smile  was  diffident,  almost  apologetic. 

"I'm  glad  I  came  back,"  he  went  on.  "Tivotson, 
sometimes  I  think  I'd  rather  be  an  underdog  than  sit 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      229 

in  the  high  places  of  the  mighty.  One's  view  is  less 
clouded — that's  paradoxical  enough,  isn't  it?"  And 
then  one  learns  to  bear  up  under  disappointment 
better — being  disappointed  often  enough,  God 
knows." 

"I  wish  you'd  write  up  your  little  experience  of  this 
evening.  (Of  course  the  climax  is  painful,  but  I'd 
dwell  on  it  rather  strongly,  nevertheless.)  Just  tell 
our  readers  that  the  Courier  returned  Mr.  Banks'  call 
last  night — returned  it  promptly  and  punctiliously — 
with  a  view  to  getting  a  personal  answer  to  the 
question  which  we  asked  that  gentleman  in 
yesterday's  extra.  Make  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  he 
kicked  us  off  his  front-steps,  or  of  our  injured 
feelings.  I  think  I'd  hint,  rather  plainly,  that  just  for 
that  we  aren't  going  to  let  him  be  our  Senator  to 
iWashington,  and  that  we  propose  to  answer  the 
question  ourselves,  if  they'll  be  patient  awhile. 

"Head  it  The  Courier  Returns  T.  Elihu's  Call!' 
Get  it  in  to-morrow's  issue — but  it's  to-day's  issue 
now — isn't  it?  I'll  wait  and  go  over  it  with  you,  when 
you've  finished.  I — I've  some  work  of  my  own  to 
do." 

Tivotson  turned  with  a  yelp  of  enthusiasm  to  act 
upon  the  suggestion,  but  the  tall  thin  figure  in  the 
shabby  tweeds  sat  motionless  at  the  window,  a 
cigarette  between  his  lips,  his  eyes  tired,  his  pencil 
idle.  While  he  watched,  a  yellow  Airedale  trotted 
into  view  on  the  silent  street  below.  He  seemed 


230  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

self-possessed  and  unhurried,  yet  glad  to  be  home 
again.  Jimmy  recognized  Hanlon's  Oh  Boy,  back 
from  his  latest  excursion.  He  watched  him  out  of 
sight  and  then  went  suddenly  to  work. 

He  was  half-hidden  beneath  the  blue  of  a  cloud 
of  cigarette  smoke  when  the  city  editor  stopped  at 
his  elbow  on  his  way  to  the  pressroom. 

"Extremely  good,  Tivotson,"  he  murmured,  but 
obviously  his  mind  was  not  in  the  words.  "Simple 
and  plausible — and  human — very  human.  Run  it  as 
it  stands." 

An  hour  later,  just  before  daybreak,  Tivotson  went 
home  to  change  his  clothes.  Quite  inexplicably,  and 
without  analyzing  his  new-found  self-respect,  the 
little  man  did  not  want  to  be  seen  on  the  streets  in 
raiment  such  as  that  which  draped  him.  And  when 
he  returned  at  nine  in  suit  and  shoes  that  fairly 
shrieked  their  newness  to  all  beholders,  Jimmy  was 
still  at  his  desk,  a  dead  cigarette  between  his  lips, 
sorting  into  place,  with  fine  preoccupation,  a  thick 
sheaf  of  closely  written  pages. 

"Not  too  bad — as  second  acts  go,"  Tivotson  heard 
him  murmur.  "Some  comedy — considerable  heart- 
interest — and  a  note  of  suspense,  and  very,  very 
human,  as  Hardy  would  say.  Thank  God  for 
Tivotson ;  it  needed  just  that  touch.  And  now  I'll  get 
a  wire  off  to  Hardy  before " 

The  rest  of  it  Tivotson  ignored.    Thank  God  for 


"COURIER"  PRINTS  AN  EXTRA      231 

Tivotson  he  heard,  and  while  he  did  not  exactly 
understand,  the  words  brought  a  stain  of  color  into 
his  hollow  cheeks.  It  was  miracle  enough  to  have 
found  out  that  someone  viewed  his  existence  with 
something  besides  tolerance,  without  hearing  that 
person  mutter  thanks  in  accents  fervidly  absent- 
minded.  From  that  hour  Tivotson's  attitude  was 
truly  doglike.  It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
before  he  remembered  even  to  be  thirsty. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN  UNPROVOKED  AND  SHAMEFUL  ASSAULT 

NEWSBOYS  were  hawking  the  morning  edition 
of  the  sheet  containing  Tivotson's  account 
of  his  visit  to  the  town's  great  man, 
neglecting  to  an  astonishing  degree  the  Gazette,  T. 
Elihu  Banks'  own  organ,  which  featured  Wain- 
wright's  answer  to  the  preposterous  issue  of  the  day 
before.  And  Jimmy  stopped  at  the  corner  of  Main 
and  Front  Streets  to  purchase  a  copy  of  both 
publications  from  a  vender,  who  ceased  hitching  at 
his  nether  garments,  supported  by  one  precarious 
suspender,  and  stood  struck  dumb  as  he  recognized 
his  customer. 

The  owner  of  the  Courier  understood  the  boy's 
emotions.  He  had  seen  men  stand  and  stare  with 
just  such  bated  and  incredulous  interest  at  a  Jesse 
James  type  of  criminal,  who  had  been  apprehended 
in  the  perpetration  of  a  crime  so  heinous  that  one 
quite  forgot  its  atrocity  in  marveling  at  the  mad 
temerity  which  had  led  the  man  to  commit  it.  Yet 
there  was  one  essential  quality  lacking  in  the  boy's 
gaze  which  convinced  Jimmy  that  he  was  perhaps 
not  regarded  quite  in  this  light,  after  all.  There  was 
neither  envy  nor  grizzly  admiration  in  the  newsboy's 
fascinated  scrutiny,  but  rather  a  worldwise  air  of 

232 


AN  UNPROVOKED  ASSAULT        233 

scorn.  Thus,  indeed,  with  two  feet  added  to  his 
stature  and  two  score  years  to  his  age,  he  might  have 
looked  upon  one  Thomas  Mott  a  half-witted  and 
wholly  miserable  lump  of  clay,  lately  featured  in  the 
metropolitan  prints  as  the  slayer  of  a  widow  and 
some  six  or  eight  small  children.  Distinctly  the  gaze 
was  not  one  of  flattery;  and  Jimmy  failed  to  do  the 
moment  justice.  Had  he  frowned  fiercely  the  incident 
might  have  remained  somehow  impressive;  instead 
he  allowed  his  amusement  to  gleam  in  his  eyes. 
Thereupon  he  ceased  instantly  to  be  even  an  awe 
some  figure. 

"Ya-a-y,"  the  shrill-voiced  gamin  shouted  to  a 
companion,  the  instant  his  tall  customer's  back  was 
fairly  turned.  "Ya-a-y,  Guffy!  That's  him  nowl 
That's  him!  The— big— stiff !" 

For  a  moment  the  light  in  Jimmy's  eyes  was  a  little 
disconcerted  at  the  personally  inimical  note  of 
contempt  which  the  ribald  identification  carried.  Then 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  not  been  on  the 
streets  since  the  appearance  of  the  extra  the  previous 
afternoon,  except  at  an  hour  when  they  were 
practically  deserted,  and  the  amusement  not  only 
returned  to  his  eyes  but  communicated  itself  to  his 
lips  as  well. 

If  the  newsboy's  attitude  was  to  be  accepted  as 
fairly  indicative  of  popular  opinion.  .  .  . 

Main  street  was  not  deserted  now.  At  no  other 
hour  was  one  so  likely  to  meet  upon  the  streets  those 


234  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

citizens  in  whose  hands  lay  the  city's  larger  affairs, 
save  perhaps  at  noon.  Only  a  day  earlier  Jimmy 
Gordon  had  been  compelled  to  pause  and  shake 
hands  at  least  a  score  of  times,  in  half  as  many 
minutes,  in  covering  those  same  two  blocks  which 
stretched  between  the  corner  and  the  alley  that  led 
to  Hanlon's.  But  no  one  insisted  now  that  he  stop, 
either  for  a  bantering  word  or  two,  or  a  hearty 
handclasp.  Thereupon,  with  the  newsboy's  comment 
vividly  in  mind,  Jimmy  tried  bowing  to  the  first  two 
or  three  men  he  met — men  who  had  hastened  to  meet 
him  the  day  before — not  because  he  expected  the 
bow  to  be  returned,  but  largely  as  an  experiment  in 
human  nature.  He  bowed  and  smiled,  and  the 
phenomenon  was  instant  and  illuminating.  The  first 
target  for  his  cordiality  turned  his  back  upon  him 
with  considerable  violence ;  the  next  two  crossed  the 
street  to  avoid  passing  him  by. 

In  other  years  Jimmy's  appearance  upon  that 
thoroughfare,  especially  when  Hanlon's  was  his 
destination,  had  always  meant  a  display  of 
disapproval,  but  it  had  never  been  so  vast  and 
bitterly  unanimous  a  thing  before.  In  truth  the 
town's  lost  dog  had  come  home,  and,  true  to  the 
instinct  of  the  breed,  had  bitten  the  first  hand 
stretched  out  to  feed  him. 

Main  Street  left  nothing  said  or  undone,  save 
perhaps  actual  physical  chastisement,  which  might 
express  its  opinion  of  such  wanton  viciousness. 


AN  UNPROVOKED  ASSAULT        235 

Immediately  Jimmy  gave  over  bowing,  condemn- 
ing  the  experiment  as  ill  conceived,  and  of  doubtful 
value,  and  kept  his  eyes  to  the  front.  Proceeding  in 
such  fashion,  unable  to  remain  oblivious  to  the 
comments  and  glances  that  kept  him  pace,  he  never 
theless  created  the  impression  of  a  preoccupied  and 
cosmopolitan  idler  who,  sauntering  to  keep  a  pleasant 
but  not  necessarily  pressing  engagement,  permitted 
himself  to  exhibit  a  trace  of  quizzical  amusement  at 
much  that  he  encountered  on  the  way.  Nor  did  this 
bearing  prove  in  any  way  soothing  to  those  who 
watched  him  pass.  But  the  smile  that  lurked  on  his 
lips  had  become  fine-edged  and  strained  in  spite  of 
himself,  when  he  finally  neared  the  old  Palace 
Theater  Building. 

Here  he  was  forced  to  swing  to  one  side  of  the 
pavement  to  avoid  a  knot  of  men  which  did  not 
break  up  at  his  approach.  Jimmy  heard  fragments 
of  their  discourse;  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  chief 
spokesman,  who  held  the  center  of  the  throng,  and 
was  wondering  casually  if  the  latter  had  stationed 
himself  there  with  the  expectation  that  he  would  pass 
that  way,  when  suddenly  the  ring  split  open.  Judge 
Jameson  (the  title  had  clung  to  him  since  the  days 
when  he  had  served  a  less  complex  community  as 
justice  of  the  peace)  plunged  through  the  ranks  of 
his  audience.  Rage  marred  the  benevolence  with 
which  the  gentleman's  white  beard  endowed  his  face ; 
passion  spoiled  his  usually  benign  austerity.  And 


236  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

there  was  a  white  circle  about  his  lips,  and  half 
circles,  correspondingly  dark,  beneath  his  eyes. 
Decidedly  the  eminent  legal  authority's  appearance 
suggested  a  sleepless  night,  as  did  the  ragged  sav 
agery  of  his  greeting. 

"A  damnable  outrage,  sir,"  he  roared  as  he  spread 
his  legs  and  blocked  the  passage  of  Warchester's 
newest  journalist.  "A  damnably  treacherous  piece 
of  business,  sir,  which,  I  promise  you,  shall  be 
punished  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law." 

And,  as  he  talked,  he  waved  a  copy  of  the  Courier's 
extra  in  one  hand  and  smote  it  with  the  other,  thus 
leaving  the  editor  of  that  sheet  in  no  doubt  whatever 
concerning  the  subject  of  his  remarks. 

The  tall,  thin  figure  came  to  a  stop ;  the  smile  was 
in  evidence,  though  slightly  crooked  now. 

"Good  morning,  Judge."  He  at  least  remembered 
the  niceties  of  formal  usage,  though  he  made  no 
advance  which  might  have  indicated  a  willingness  to 
shake  hands.  "Good  morning,  sir — and  thank  youl 
I  can't  tell  you  how  greatly  it  encourages  me  to  hear 
you  utter  such  sentiments,  particularly  in  this  positive 
and  public  fashion."  He  paused,  and  the  smile 
became  charmingly  disingenuous.  "I — I  was 
beginning  to  believe  that  I  had  stirred  up  no  end  of 
hostility.  There  were  so  many  who  had  to  take 
pains  not  to  see  me  on  the  streets  this  morning.  But 
that's  usually  the  way,  I  suppose.  No  doubt  they  are 
waiting  for  a  gentleman  of  your  prestige  to  counte- 


AN  UNPROVOKED  ASSAULT        237 

nance  a  change  which  must  come,  of  course, 
inevitably.  It  is  an  outrage,  as  you  say.  It  is 
damnably  small — damnably  treacherous.  And  per 
haps  I  should  add,  sir,  that  those  words  express 
my  estimate  of  all  public  servants  who  use  their 
power  to  further  personal  ends,  just  as  dishonest, 
though,  perhaps,  less  gainful.  May  I  quote  you,  sir, 
as  having  allied  yourself " 

The  circle  had  tightened  again,  this  time  with  the 
tall,  thin  figure  who  smiled,  and  the  shorter  one  who 
glared  at  him  from  popping  eyes,  as  its  nucleus.  And 
for  a  moment  it  was  a  dumbfounded,  exceedingly 
bewildered  circle. 

For  T.  Elihu's  black  sheep  of  a  nephew,  instead  of 
cringing,  had  brightened  visibly  before  the  forensic 
bellowings  of  District  Attorney  Jameson.  There  was 
pleased  gratification  in  his  lean  and  familiarly 
apologetic  face,  such  as  one  who  has  performed  a 
thankless  task  only  to  find  himself  the  object  of 
unsought  encomium  might  be  expected  to  exhibit. 
And  only  one  or  two  caught  the  ghastly  significance 
of  his  complacency.  He  believed — he  dared  to 
believe — that  Judge  Jameson,  T.  Elihu's  own  lawyer, 
had  meant  to 

Then  Jameson  recovered  his  breath,  and  cleared 
even  the  most  sluggish  mind  of  perplexity. 

"You  quote  me,"  he  thundered.  "You  dare  to 
quote  me  in  that  dirty  rag  as  having  voiced  any  such 
utterance,  and  I — I'll " 


23  8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

He  paused,  groping  for  a  threat  which  might  do 
the  case  justice,  and  in  that  infinitesimal  moment  of 
quiet  Jimmy  Gordon  underwent  a  swift  change  of 
face.  His  gratification  was  seen  to  vanish. 

"Yes,  Judge,"  he  asked  softly.  '  "You'll  do— 
what?" 

Men  pressed  closer ;  men  came  on  a  run  and  packed 
the  throng  still  tighter.  It  was  as  if  an  electric  thrill 
had  gone  abroad  of  a  sudden  to  warn  them  that  here 
was  the  prime  sensation  of  the  morning. 

"I'll  run  you  out  of  town,"  the  Judge  bellowed. 
"I'll  run  you  out  of  town,  just  as  I  did  eight  years 
ago,  you  good-for-nothing — slanderous " 

Jimmy  cut  him  so  short  that  he  almost  choked. 
Nor  could  there  be  any  doubt  now  concerning  the 
expression  on  the  former's  face.  It  was  rage — that 
sort  of  white  rage  with  which  no  sensible  man  cares 
particularly  to  trifle.  Yet  his  voice  was  pleasant  and 
conversationally  quiet. 

"No,  you  won't  Judge,"  he  contradicted.  "No 
more  than  I  will  you,  unless  you  wait  too  long  before 
seeing  the  error  of  your  ways — though  I've  promised 
myself,  often  enough,  that  I'd  do  it  for  you,  God 
knows." 

And  with  that  crowning  bit  of  verbal  effrontery, 
the  owner  of  the  Courier  raised  one  arm.  Later  the 
true  interpretation  of  that  gesture  was  the  bone  of 
much  bitter  contention.  Hobbs,  for  instance  of  the 
Hardware,  who  prided  himself  on  being  above  all  a 


AN  UNPROVOKED  ASSAULT        239 

fair-minded  man,  maintained  that  Jimmy  had  merely 
waved  aside  those  who  blocked  his  path  that  he  might 
pass  on  to  Hanlon's.  But  Wilbert,  Drugs  and  Toilet 
Sundries,  always  to  be  swayed  by  his  personal  likes 
and  dislikes,  insisted  with  heated  indignation  that  the 
move  could  be  construed  as  nothing  but  the  vilest 
and  most  cowardly  of  threats  aganst  an  elderly 
gentleman,  obviously  unable  to  protect  himself  from 
physical  assault.  Wilbert  belonged  to  an  old- 
fashioned  era  of  Warchester,  when  cow-hiding  had 
been  held  to  be  a  specific  for  certain  cases,  fully  as 
infallible  and  no  more  reprehensible  than  mustard- 
plasters  and  sulphur  and  molasses.  He  was  even 
heard  to  urge  some  such  drastic  punishment  after 
Jimmy  Gordon  was  gone  from  sight  and  hearing. 

But  whatever  the  true  meaning  of  that  uplifted 
arm  (and  there  were  few  who  did  not  lean  toward 
Wilbert's  interpretation  of  its  dastardly  intent),  the 
result  was  speedy  and  astounding. 

For  Judge  Jameson,  falling  back  before  the  white- 
faced  editor,  tripped  upon  his  own  panic  feet  and 
came  down  full  length  in  the  gutter.  Those  who 
heard  his  splutterings  as  they  assisted  him  to  rise, 
found  them  fully  as  unintelligible  as  Jimmy  Gordon's 
last  words  had  been  enigmatic  of  meaning.  They 
refused  to  credit  their  own  ears  in  wondering  if 
Jimmy  Gordon  had  really  threatened  to  run  the 
eminent  gentleman  out  of  town — all  but  the  eminent 
gentleman  himself,  who  had  no  need  to  wonder.  He 


24o  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

shdok  off  a  dozen  solicitous  hands  and  started  for 
T.  Elihu's  office.  He  knew. 

And  within  an  hour  it  was  common  gossip  that 
Judge  Jameson,  who  had  once  incurred  Jimmy 
Gordon's  undying  enmity  through  the  performance 
of  his  sworn  duty,  had  suffered  harshly  at  that 
returned  renegade's  hands.  There  were  many 
versions  of  the  affair,  which  tallied  only  in  one 
particular.  The  attack  had  been  unprovoked  and 
shameful.  Before  noon  Wilbert,  an  eyewitness,  was 
not  only  able  to  recollect,  but  to  illustrate  as  well, 
with  approved  pugilistic  poses,  the  very  blow  which 
had  felled  the  defenseless  victim. 

And  the  offender  (allowed  to  depart  the  scene 
unpunished  and  unscathed,  owing  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  taken  the  bystanders  by  surprise)  entered 
Hanlon's  and  confronted  the  proprietor  of  that 
hostelry  at  the  same  moment  when  they  were  assisting 
Judge  Jameson  to  his  feet  outside. 

Immediately  a  frown  furrowed  Hanlon's 
forehead.  He  had  accepted  Jimmy  Gordon's  return 
to  Warchester  as  a  happy  actuality,  viewing  him  as  a 
Joseph  who  might  explain  the  minority  party's  night 
mare  of  seven  lean  years  and  interpret  their  dream 
of  seven  years  of  plenty  into  terms  of  action.  Without 
being  analytical  about  it,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
it  was  still  the  same  quizzical-faced  boy  of  few  words 
who  had  come  back,  changed  neither  inwardly  nor 
outwardly,  save  that  he  had  grown  inches  taller.  But 


AN  UNPROVOKED  ASSAULT        241 

the  Jimmy  of  old  had  always  masked  his  emotions, 
having  no  faith  that  they  might  prove  interesting  to 
anyone  but  himself.  This  was  the  first  time  that 
Hanlon  had  ever  known  the  town's  black  sheep  to 
permit  anything  so  positive  as  either  joy  or  rage  to 
show  in  his  features. 

"Steady!"  he  exclaimed,  as  Jimmy  burst  in. 
"Steady!  Faith,  an' what's  changed yer  face?  Aire 
ye  runnin'  away  from  a  fight?" 

Jimmy  whirled.     His  eyes  were  hot. 

"I've  been  hurrying  to  keep  from  starting  one!" 
he  flashed  back. 

The  manner  of  the  reply  was  illuminating,  and 
from  that  moment  Hanlon's 'suspicions  were  awake. 
He  began  to  wonder  if  Jimmy  Gordon  was  really  a 
prodigal  of  the  approved,  penniless  pattern,  who, 
reversing  the  usual  romantic  order  of  things,  had 
come  home  to  make  his  fortune.  It  was  a  grave 
suspicion,  and  so,  to  cover  his  doubt,  he  fell  back  upon 
a  topic  which  all  the  rest  of  Warchester  had  found 
futile. 

"Lad,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  a  copy  of  the  Courier 
from  his  pocket,  in  a  drawl  with  mock  reproof, 
"Lad,  what  a  hell  of  a  question  to  ask  a  gentleman! 
How — did — ye — git — away — with — it — T.  Elihu  ? 
Ain't  ye  ashamed  of  yerself  ?" 

Calculated  or  not,  the  effect  of  the  raillery  was 
magical.  All  in  an  instant,  it  was  the  old  Jimmy 
Gordon  who  stood  there,  grinning  whimsically,  half- 


242  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

apologetically,  without  the  slightest  trace  of  fire  in 
his  eye. 

"It's  the  fruit  of  my  coarse  associations,"  he 
retorted  in  kind,  "I've  forgotten  all  the  nice  little 
tricks  of  social  etiquette!" 

"Ye've  forgot  to  shave."  Hanlon's  voice  grew 
imincing.  "And,  by-the-by,  yer  val-lay  has  laid  out 
yer  things,  me  good  man!" 

Thereupon,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  his  vast 
approval,  the  proprietor  of  Hanlon's  crushed 
Jimmy's  shoulders  in  a  bear-like  embrace. 

"Ye  divil!"  he  roared  delightedly.  "Ye  lazy- 
eyed,  grinnin'  divil.  Make  yerself  dacint  and  come 
down  and  breakfast  wid  me.  'Tis  starvin'  I  am  to 
hear  the  disgraceful  details." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  SERIES  OF  CONFERENCES 

ANY  number  of  discussions  took  place  that  day, 
wherever  one  man  encountered  another 
who  would  listen;  all  directly  traceable  to 
the  infamy  of  Jimmy  Gordon  and  the  boldness  of 
his  utterances  in  the  sheet  which  bore  his  name.  But 
there  were  three  in  particular,  capable  of  classifica 
tion  as  a  series  of  conferences,  since  each  depended 
upon  the  one  which  had  gone  before  while  tending 
toward  a  common  climax,  that  were  of  singular 
importance. 

The  first  took  place  between  Judge  Jameson  and 
T.  Elihu  Banks;  the  second  between  the  latter 
prominent  citizen  and  the  up-start  editor  who  had 
flung  mud  at  him;  and  the  third,  two  days  later, 
shared  again  by  Judge  Jameson  and  another  per 
sonage  who  waited  until  after  dark  to  keep  the 
appointment — a  personage  who  was,  in  his  own 
quite  different  world  of  society,  equally  as  prominent 
as  any  of  them. 

Judge  Jameson  lost  but  little  time  in  seeking  out 
T.  Elihu  Banks  that  morning  of  his  disastrous 
encounter  with  Jimmy  Gordon.  The  hour  still 

243 


244  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

lacked  a  few  minutes  of  ten  when  T.  Elihu,  pacing 
up  and  down  his  private  office,  himself  in  a 
dangerous  state  of  mind,  stopped  to  glare  at  the 
entrance  of  his  legal  representative  and  fellow 
candidate  on  the  Civic  Welfare  ticket.  Jameson's 
face  very  amply  indicated  his  turmoil  of  spirit;  the 
state  of  his  toilet  was  a  superfluity.  T.  Elihu'* 
bearing  was  more  like  that  of  a  caged  lion,  both  in 
the  way  he  swung  his  head  from  side  to  side  as  he 
walked,  and  the  padded  softness  of  his  heavy  tread. 
Even  the  roar  which  he  emitted,  simultaneous  with 
the  closing  of  the  office  door,  was  leonine,  at  least 
in  volume.  The  first  conference  opened  noisily. 

In  the  beginning,  the  town's  most  prominent 
citizen  confined  himself  to  a  dissertation  upon  the 
Courier  and  its  owner,  past  and  present,  antecedents 
and  ancestors.  And  the  future  to  which  he  consigned 
them  both,  when  he  had  arrived  at  that  point, 
suffered  neither  from  lack  of  luridness  nor  poverty 
of  phrase. 

The  Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  who  had  already 
been  in  conference  with  Mr.  Banks,  if  the  part  he 
played  as  overawed  auditor  for  T.  Elihu's  explosive 
grunts  could  be  so  designated,  tried  to  keep  the 
pained  shock  from  showing  too  plainly  in  his  face. 
Indeed,  from  the  moment  the  Reverend  Watson 
Duncan  had  entered  the  room,  summoned  there 
peremptorily  by  his  stepson's  uncle,  Mr.  Duncan's 
state  of  mind  had  been  unenviable.  And  as  he 


CONFERENCES  245 

listened,  seated  against  the  wall,  he  suggested,  more 
than  ever  before,  an  harassed  old  buck-rabbit, 
quakingly  conscious  of  his  rabbity  instincts  and  ten 
dencies,  yet  hopeful  that  the  nervous  twitchings  of 
his  nose  might  not  betray  him. 
Jameson  waited  until  he  could  make  himself  heard. 

"I — I  suppose  you  have  seen  this  morning's  issue 
of  the  Courier"  he  ventured  then,  in  a  voice  grown 
so  thin  and  bodiless  that  even  he  heard  the  note  of 
'fear  in  it.  Upon  T.  Elihu  it  had  the  effect  of  a 
sharp-tined  prodding  iron. 

"Sit  down,"  he  ordered  profanely,  "if  your  knees 
are  growing  weak."  But  then,  recovering  himself 
enough  to  read  a  new  development  in  Jameson's 
face,  which  was  a  bulletin  of  disaster,  he  fell  back 
upon  a  question.  "What's  happened  now?" 

Jameson  was  mopping  his  forehead. 

"I've  just  had  an  altercation  with  that  crook, 
Gordon,"  he  replied,  "a — a  very  disconcerting 
altercation."  He  seemed  to  set  himself  like  a  high 
diver  for  the  next  plunge.  "I  suspect  somebody  has 
— squealed,"  he  finished. 

This  possibility  was  suggested  in  a  very  small 
voice  and  accompanied  by  a  sidewise  glance  toward 
the  reverend  gentleman,  which  might  have  been 
construed  either  as  a  belated  thought  for  caution  or 
a  delicate  apology  for  speaking  in  such  terms  of  one 
of  Mr.  Duncan's  own  family  circle.  Mr.  Banks 
suffered  from  no  such  compunction. 


246  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Again  he  frothed,  and  again  achieved  partial 
calmness. 

"Suspect  someone  has  squealed — suspect!"  He 
mimicked  Mr.  Jameson's  intonation  with  cruel 
precision.  "Damnation,  man,  can't  you  ever 
approach  an  issue  without  quibbling?  It's  Tivotson 
— the  drunken  fool — or  didn't  you  realize  that,  even 
after  they'd  told  you  so  in  this  morning's  paper!" 

If  T.  Elihu  had  expected  a  display  of  positive  and 
belligerent  support  on  the  part  of  his  colleague,  the 
latter's  face  at  that  moment,  a  decidedly  unpleasant 
yellow  above  the  white  benevolence  of  his  whiskers, 
corrected  the  error  in  his  judgment.  The  man 
seemed  fairly  to  shrink  within  his  clothes. 

"You  mean  he'll  tell "  he  whispered. 

T.  Elihu  ripped  out  an  interruption.  There  was 
stuff  in  T.  Elihu  Banks. 

"God!"  He  shattered  any  belief  which  Mr. 
Duncan  might  have  held  that  there  had  been  a  pious 
invocation  in  former  like  explosions.  "Good  God! 
And  I've  got  to  depend  on  you !" 

Jameson  offered  no  defense  of  his  collapse.  He 
lifted  a  haggard  face. 

"Anything  I  can  do,"  he  began,  when  T.  Elihu 
wheeled  toward  the  little  and  rabbity  figure  against 
the  wall.  St.  Luke's  congregation  would  have  been 
equally  astounded  at  the  tone  of  the  words  which 
T.  Elihu  flung  at  their  dapper  shepherd,  and  the 
latter's  meek  alacrity  to  obey. 


CONFERENCES  247 

"I'm  busy,"  he  ordered  briefly.  "Close  the  door 
behind  you." 

Mr.  Duncan  almost  leaped  to  obey.  He  had  been 
quaking  with  the  fear  that  T.  Elihu  might  reproach 
him  with  a  kinship  which  he  had  already  repudiated 
some  eight  years  before,  or  find  him  somehow 
blameworthy  for  the  present  dilemma.  But  with 
the  feel  of  the  knob  under  his  fingers,  a  very  certain 
retreat  open  to  him,  he  gave  thought  to  his  ecclesias 
tical  dignity  and  managed  to  conquer,  partly,  the 
jquaver  in  his  throat. 

"I  shall  not  intrude  upon  your  time  now,  sir," 
he  said.  "Some  other  time — some  other  time  1"  But 
the  usually  airy  gesture  with  which  he  was  wont  to 
wave  aside  the  urgency  of  his  visits,  was  wofully 
stiff.  "And  I  need  not  assure  you,  gentlemen,  that  I 
shall  do  all  I  can  to  combat  from  my  pulpit  the 
forces  of  iniquity  and  deceit." 

His  well-rounded  pronunciamento  fell  upon  stony 
ears.  T.  Elihu  was  pacing  the  office  rug  once  more. 
This  time  when  he  paused,  decision  was  evident  in 
the  set  of  his  jaw. 

"Garritty  in  town?"  he  asked. 

Jameson  nodded. 

"I — have  every  reason  to  believe "  he  began, 

and  then  realized  the  unfortunate  habit  of  circum 
locution  had  almost  betrayed  him  again.  "He's 
here,"  he  corrected  himself. 

"Get  in  touch  with  him,"  he  ordered.    "And  wait 


248  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

until  you  hear  from  me.  I'm  going  to  find  out  first 
if  this  dog  means  to  see  this  thing  through,  or  is 
only  waiting  until  he  gets  his  price." 

"He  threatened  to  drive  me  out  of  town,"  Jame 
son  burst  out,  just — just  as  I  did  him,  eight  years 
ago.  What  shall  I  tell  Garrity?" 

Mr.  Banks  laughed  aloud  in  sudden  bitterness. 

"If  I  had  only  hooked  up  with  him  then,"  he 
said,  "I'd  have  a  man  behind  me  now.  Tell 
Garrity?  Unless  you  hear  from  me  before  night, 
just  remind  him  that  any  change  in  the  administra 
tion  would  be  a  most  unfortunate  thing  for  him." 

Jameson's  comprehension  was  complete,  yet  it 
failed  to  bring  him  any  degree  of  comfort  or 
restored  confidence.  Fish-like  he  opened  and  closed 
his  mouth,  without  achieving  any  sound  whatever. 
(Instead  a  new  apprehension  showed  in  his  eyes.) 
T.  Elihu  stood  above  him  an  instant,  surveying  him 
with  unconcealed  disgust. 

"Don't  go  back  on  the  street  until  you  look  less 
like  a  five-year  sentence,"  he  flung  over  his  shoulder 
as  he  turned  away.  "And  you  can  get  that  in  this 
State  for  .  .  .  but  no  doubt  you  recollect  the 
statutes." 

T.  Elihu  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  second  interview,  which  occurred  at  three  in 
the  afternoon,  was  purely  the  outcome  of  chance, 
since  Jimmy  had  decided  that  he  would  not  return  to 
the  office  that  day. 


CONFERENCES  249 

Directly  after  lunch,  having  submitted  meekly  to 
the  ministrations  of  Abel,  he  started  eagerly  toward 
the  white  cottage,  which  had  once  been  known  as 
old  Dave  Landis'  place  on  the  hill.  The  rough  draft 
of  his  second  act  discreetly  displayed  in  one  pocket 
of  his  coat,  he  waited  in  a  manner  which  he  felt 
befitted  a  hopeful,  yet  somewhat  awed  playwright 
in  the  presence  of  Miss  Carol  Landis,  only  to  have 
the  door  opened  for  him  by  the  maid.  Somehow,  he 
had  expected  that  Carol  herself  would  answer  the 
bell,  and  even  the  little  maid  noticed  the  tall,  thin 
gentleman's  moment  of  awkward  blankness,  when 
she  announced  that  Miss  Landis  was  out.  And, 
suddenly,  Jimmy  found  the  afternoon,  which  had 
impressed  him  as  particularly  bright  and  cheerful, 
no  longer  especially  exhilarating.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  gone  to  seek  Carol  Landis  to  find 
her  not  at  home,  and  he  was  glad  that  he  had  chosen 
the  longer  route,  and  avoided  the  Banks-Latham 
neighborhood  on  the  way  up  the  hill.  Retracing  his 
steps,  he  tried  to  laugh  at  his  absurd  expectation  that 
there  still  would  be  no  one  to  monopolize  her  time 
but  himself — Jimmy  Gordon,  again  the  town's  re 
proach.  And  as  for  the  rest,  he  could  put  in  the 
afternoon  typing  that  second  act  and  writing  a  letter 
to  Hardy. 

He  had  finished  the  letter  when  T.  Elihu  Banks 
entered  the  Courier's  editorial  rooms,  a  scant  five 
minutes  after  his  return.  It  required  a  second  warn- 


250  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

ing  cough  from  Tivotson  to  apprise  his  superior  of 
the  visitor's  presence,  however,  for  Jimmy  had 
fallen  upon  his  typewriter  with  a  zeal  calculated  to 
occupy  his  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  a  disquieting 
contemplation  of  his  own  ridiculous  presumption  in 
having  dared  to  think  that  she  even  recollected  his 
old-time,  arrogant,  matter-of-fact  intimacy. 

The  smile  with  which  he  greeted  T.  Elihu  could 
have  meant  almost  anything,  or  nothing,  just  as  one 
cared  to  view  it.  It  was  a  very  pleasant  smile. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  apologized  for  having  kept  the 
big  man  standing.  "I  didn't  hear  you  enter.  You'll 
sit  down,  of  course." 

T.  Elihu  did  so  without  replying.  His  small  eyes 
traveled  to  Tivotson's  eagerly  forward-thrust  face, 
and  dwelt  upon  it  without  a  flicker  of  recognition, 
even  for  the  little  man's  changed  appearance. 

"If  you  can  grant  me  just  a  moment  or  two,  in 
private,  sir,"  he  suggested  to  Jimmy.  "I'll  be 
brief.  .  .  ." 

The  owner  of  the  Courier  frowned  ever  so 
slightly. 

"Tivotson  shares  alike  all  the  hazards  and  benefits 
which  are  peculiar  to  this  enterprise  of  ours."  He 
seemed  to  demur.  "There  is  a  bond  of  sympathy 
between  us.  However,"  he  quickened  his  speech  a 
little  as  T.  Elihu  showed  signs  of  impatience  with 
this  introspective  irrelevance,  "however,  since  you 
wish  it.  ." 


CONFERENCES  251 

Tivotson  effaced  himself  with  leisurely  grimness. 
And  the  moment  he  was  gone,  Mr.  Banks,  having 
translated  very  literally  Jimmy's  assurance  that  half 
of  all  profits  were  to  be  the  city  editor's  share, 
proceeded  directly  to  the  matter  in  hand.  There  was 
even  a  hint  of  relief  in  T.  Elihu's  manner,  for  the 
simplicity  of  his  precious  nephew's  insinuation 
cleared  the  issue.  It  had  become,  so  to  speak,  strictly 
a  business  deal.  He  opened  negotiations  on  that 
basis. 

"How  much  do  you  want — your  rock-bottom 
figure?"  he  asked. 

A  twinkle  appeared  in  Jimmy's  eye,  but  he  clung 
to  that  almost  naive  frankness,  of  which  T.  Elihu  so 
approved. 

"It  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  ask — how  much 
have  you?"  he  laughed  genially.  "I  don't  mean  to 
haggle,  either,  Mr.  Banks,  or  beat  about  the  bush, 
but  just  what,  or  how  much  do  I  understand  you  wish 
to  purchase?" 

T.  Elihu's  great  jaw  seemed  to  edge  forward. 

"That  treacherous  sot's  silence "  he  began, 

when  Jimmy  interrupted. 

"I  couldn't  guarantee  that  under  any  circumstances. 
Tivotson  has  taken  a — a  very  decided  aversion  to 
you,  sir,  if  you  get  my  meaning.  I  couldn't  promise 
to  keep  Tivotson  silent." 

"Then,  your  agreement  not  to  back  him  up  in  his 
charges.  I  can  take  care  of  him." 


252  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"I  see,"  murmured  Jimmy — "and  what  else  ?" 

"The  Courier"  said  T.  Elihu  succinctly.  "A 
public  retraction  of  your  unfounded  attack,  which  we 
will  not  discuss  at  this  moment,  and — a  decision  on 
your  part  to  leave  Warchester — oh  say  in  a  week  or 
two." 

The  twinkle  became  brighter  in  Jimmy's  eyes. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  "again!  And  then 
seriously,  as  the  case  demanded.  "Is  that  all,  Mr. 
Banks?" 

T.  Elihu  nodded;  his  eyes  glistening  and  piglike. 

"And  the  consideration?"  ventured  Jimmy. 

"Twenty  thousand!" 

For  a  moment  Jimmy  pondered  and  then  sighed 
deeply. 

"I  value  the  Courier,  greatly,"  he  mused.  "As  a 
newspaper  property  it  is  improving,  as  you'll  agree. 
And  then — there  are  sentimental  reasons  which  make 
me  reluctant  to " 

"Twenty-five  thousand,"  said  T.  Elihu. 

"And  then,"  Jimmy  went  on.  "I — I'm  not  so  sure 
that  I  want  to  leave  Warchester  just  at  present.  It 
would  necessitate  a  very  serious  change  in  my " 

T.  Elihu's  heavy  lips  curled  a  little.  He  had 
expected  to  find  it  a  hard  bargain.  He  drew  out  his 
wallet. 

"Thirty  thousand,"  he  snapped.  "And  that's  my 
limit.  I  could  fight  you  cheaper  than  that,  and  beat 
you,  but " 


CONFERENCES  253 

"But  the  Civic  Reform  folks  mean  to  nominate 
you  by  acclaim  for  Senator  two  weeks  from  Satur 
day,"  Jimmy  finished  for  him  serenely.  "Put  your 
money  back  in  your  pocket,  Mr.  Banks." 

And  in  a  breath  both  men,  at  that,  were  on  their 
feet. 

The  twinkle  was  gone  from  Jimmy's  eyes  and  T. 
Elihu  had  begun  to  breathe  heavily. 

"You  promised  to  make  it  brief,"  Jimmy  Gordon 
said  softly.  "Have  you  finished?" 

T.  Elihu's  great  moon-face  went  purple.  He 
wheezed  inarticulately,  sucked  in  a  great  gulping 
breath  and  raised  one  soft  hand  to  hammer  emphasis 
for  his  promise  of  destruction. 

"Then  let  me  show  you  the  way  out,"  murmured 
Jimmy  hastily,  smiling  still,  though  his  face  was 
strained  and  white.  "Tivotson,  if  you  please." 

At  that  peremptory  call  the  door  flashed  open, 
disclosing  Tivotson  on  the  stairs.  And  as  T.  Elihu, 
loosing  his  preliminary  bellow,  whirled  in  that 
direction,  Jimmy  caught  the  bulky  visitor  by  his 
trousers  belt  and  the  slack  of  his  collar  and  started 
him  for  the  exit.  Before  he  could  resist  against  the 
rigid  arms  which  propelled  him,  T.  Elihu  was  on 
the  stairway — and  there  was  no  wisdom  in  offering 
resistance  there.  So  Jimmy  Gordon  escorted  the 
town's  great  man  to  the  lower  level,  with  the  city 
editor  showing  the  way. 

"The  outer  door,  if  you  please,"  Jimmy  called 


254  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

sharply  as  he  neared  the  landing.  "Where  are  your 
manners,  Tivotson?" 

"Sorry,  sir,"  replied  Tivotson.  "It's  open  now, 
sir."  And  he  made  a  low  bow  to  T.  Elihu. 

With  that,  having  a  premonition  of  what  was  to 
come,  Mr.  Banks  heaved  his  bull-like  shoulders  in 
one  convulsive  struggle.  One  was  all  he  essayed, 
for  the  wire-like  fingers  in  his  collar  promptly  prom 
ised  to  strangle  him  if  he  repeated  the  attempt. 

So  they  debouched  upon  the  outer  steps,  a  wheez 
ing  purple-faced  man,  and  a  white-faced  one  who 
smiled.  And  Jimmy  Gordon  had  lifted  his  foot  to 
speed  their  parting  guest,  when  an  unforeseen 
interruption  spoiled  this  clear  and  happy  intent. 

Someone  called  Jimmy  Gordon's  name  from  the 
street,  and  Jimmy  recognized  that  someone's  voice. 
He  looked  up.  Carol  Landis  was  riding  past,  beside 
Evelyn  Latham  at  the  wheel  of  her  car,  and  both 
girls  waved  a  hand  in  greeting.  In  consternation 
Jimmy  released  his  visitor's  coat  collar,  suddenly  so 
flushed  and  ludicrous  a  figure  that  he  resembled 
nothing  so  much  as  an  abashed  small  boy,  who  had 
been  caught  in  a  mischievously  reprehensible  act. 

And  then  with  one  eye  on  the  disappearing  car, 
which  momentarily  had  become  a  menace  to  traffic, 
since  both  driver  and  passenger  were  gazing  back'the 
way  they  had  come,  he,  too,  bowed  to  T.  Elihu. 
From  a  distance  he  hoped  it  would  appear  to  be  a 
polite  and  punctilious  salutation. 


CONFERENCES  255 

"So  good  of  you  to  call,  Mr.  Banks,"  he  mur 
mured,  but  already  there  was  contrition  in  his  stifled 
voice.  "Come,  Tivotson." 

Followed  by  the  little  man  he  mounted  the  stairs. 
For  a  brief  instant  he  stood  before  a  square  glass  on 
the  wall  of  the  office,  surveying  his  guilty  counte 
nance.  Then  Jimmy  slumped  into  a  chair,  and  with 
Tivotson  leaning  against  the  desk,  he  soberly 
thought  over  the  happenings  of  the  last  few  hours. 
Then  the  storm  surged  up  within  him,  and  he 
laughed  until  he  groaned  like  a  stricken  man. 

The  same  night  of  T.  Elihu's  visit  at  the  office  of 
the  Courier,  shortly  after  twelve,  one  Whitey  Gar- 
ritty,  out  on  bail  on  a  charge  of  grand  larceny, 
which,  twice  postponed,  was  scheduled  for  trial  early 
in  the  winter,  paused  before  the  house  of  the  District 
Attorney,  whose  duty  it  would  be  to  prosecute  him. 
Whistling  ever  so  softly  between  his  teeth,  Whitey 
stopped  there  a  while,  making  certain  that  he  was 
alone  and  unobserved  on  that  part  of  the  street. 
The  reconnaissance  satisfactory,  he  slipped  from  the 
sidewalk  to  a  clump  of  bushes  on  the  lawn  and 
waited  again,  and  from  there  to  the  entry  of  Mr, 
Jameson's  residence.     Trying  the  knob  with  sophis 
ticated   fingers,   Whitey   felt   the   door  yield,    and 
without  the  formality  of  so  much  as  a  knock  to 
announce  himself,  he  swung  it  open.      Announce 
ment,  however,  was  unnecessary.    Mr.  Jameson  rose 
from  his  chair  in  the  library  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
where  he  had  been  waiting. 


HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

There  was,  in  Whitey's  entrance,  a  certain  air  of 
familiarity,  both  with  his  surroundings  and  toward 
his  host — a  truculent  consciousness  of  his  own  ex 
ceeding  cleverness,  which  was  Whitey's  chief  char 
acteristic.  Nor  was  this  manner  lost  upon  Mr. 
Jameson,  who  had  reason  to  know  that,  in  truth, 
familiarity  was  the  forerunner  of  contempt.  Had 
Garritty  entered  the  drawing-room  of  T.  Elihu 
Banks'  home  and  seated  himself  in  such  fashion,  T. 
Elihu  would  have  pitched  him  immediately  from  a 
window,  no  matter  how  urgent  his  need.  Instead, 
Mr.  Jameson  tendered  a  match  for  the  cigarette 
pendant  on  the  pasty-faced  visitor's  lower  lip. 

Whitey  struck  the  match,  applied  it  to  his  cigar 
ette,  watching  Mr.  Jameson's  perturbation  mean 
while  over  his  shielding  hand. 

"What's  give  you  the  shakes?"  he  demanded 
then,  as  he  swung  one  leg  oyer  the  chair  arm. 

In  a  way,  the  question  was  not  remarkable  under 
the  circumstances.  Mr.  Jameson's  condition  was 
both  palpitant  and  palpable. 

"A  most  unfortunate  occurrence,"  he  replied, 
remaining  upon  his  feet.  "Most  unfortunate.  A — 
a  crisis  which  confronts  both  of  us,  I  might  say." 

"Well,  what  d'yuh  know  about  that,"  Whitey 
answered  unenthusiastically.  "Where's  the  jam?" 

"A  transaction  of  importance — several  transac 
tions,  to  be  explicit — of  the  last  administration,  are 
likely  to  be  held  up  to  public  scrutiny.  And  while 
there  is  nothing — ah — out  of  the  ordinary  to  char 
acterize  them,  it  is  very  possible  that  certain  details, 


CONFERENCES  257 

necessary    to    expediency,     may    be    misconstrued 
as " 

Whitey  waved  a  long  white  hand. 

"Go  no  further,  pal.  I  get  yuh !"  he  said.  "Some 
body's  squealed — that's  it,  eh?" 

"Partly,  yes." 

"Didn't  he  get  his  bit?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"Then  let  him  holler  his  head  off,"  advised  the 
truculent  Mr.  Garritty.  "A  lot  it'll  get  him — except 
an  excursion  up  the  river!" 

"There  is,  however,  a  complicating  element,"  Mr. 
Jameson  explained.  "It  has  become  known  to  the 
opposition  newspaper." 

"Good-night!"  exclaimed  Garritty. 

"You  hadn't  noticed  the  last  few  issues  of  the 
Courier"?"  the  other  inquired. 

"I  don't  bother  my  head  with  those  hick  sheets," 
said  Garritty.  "Jumped  you  already,  have  they?" 

"They  have." 

Mr.  Jameson  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down 
the  room,  and  finally  approached  the  gist  of  the 
interview.  "There  will  be  another  district  attorney 
to  try  your  case,"  he  husked,  trying  to  make  the 
disclosure  dramatic,  "unless  we  do  something." 

Whitey  straightened  in  a  distinctly  unpleasant 
way. 

"So  that's  it?"  he  sneered.  "Sometimes  it's  a 
wonder  to  me  you  don't  get  to  talking  and  meet 
yourself  coming  back.  Now — just  what  was  we 
expected  to  do!" 


258  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

"Tivotson  could  be  managed  if — if  the  other  one 
was  out  of  the  way." 

"Not  me !  Not  when  I  can  jump  to  Canada  twice 
as  easy!"  Whitey's  refusal  was  so  final  that  the 
district  attorney  knew  Whitey  had  taken  him  too 
entirely  at  his  word. 

"I — I  meant  nothing  so  drastic,"  he  hastened  to 
state.  "I  was  merely  suggesting  that  perhaps  some 
little  occurrence  could  be  arranged  which  would  re 
dound  to  Gordon's  public  discredit,  or — or  whereby 
he  and  his  nefarious  activity  might  be  confined  until 
after  election.  He  has  already  been  before  me  to 
answer  for  a  misdemeanor.  Eight  years  ago  I  gave 
him  twenty-four  hours  to  get  out  of  town " 

Jameson  stopped  and  backed  away  from  the  Gar- 
ritty  who  had  leaped  to  his  feet.  Slit-eyed,  head 
drawn  down  between  his  shoulders,  Garritty  stood 
staring  at  him,  hate  in  his  cruel  hands  and  his  twitch 
ing  lips. 

"Gordon,"  he  snarled,  "Jimmy  Gordon^-the 
town's  amateur  bad  man!  So  he's  back  at  last,  is 
he?"  His  voice  became  a  crooning  monotone. 
"And  he's  going  to  slip  a  new  district  attorney  over 
on  me,  is  he,  and  send  me  up  for  a  stretch?" 

He  glared  palely  at  Jameson. 

"Why  couldn't  you  talk  straight  for  once  in  your 
life,"  he  demanded,  "and  save  me  that  time?  See 

that  scar?  That's  where  his got 

me  over  the  head  with  a  chair,  that  night  I'd  'a'  done 
for  him  in  Hanlon's,  for  cuttin'  in  on-  my  game.  I 
been  looking  for  that  bird  for  eight  years!" 


CONFERENCES  259 

He  turned,  and,  too  weak  in  the  knees  to  follow, 
Jameson  allowed  him  to  reach  the  door  before  he 
could  speak. 

"Nothing  d-d-drastic,"  he  stuttered.  "Noth 
ing -" 

Garritty  flung  a  harsh  laugh  back  at  him. 

"Drastic  hell!  Pass  the  word  on  to  your  crowd 
that  they  can  cheer  up,"  said  Garritty.  "And  you 
can  put  in  your  time  framin'  an  alibi  for  me." 

Without  moving,  Jameson  heard  the  door  open 
and  close.  Long  after  his  visitor  had  gone  he  stood 
there,  staring  vacantly  before  him.  At  first  he  tried 
to  convince  himself  that  he  had  put  a  wrong  con 
struction  upon  Whitey's  threat,  but  found  that 
ground  untenable  in  remembering  Garritty's  face. 
Thereupon  he  shifted  to  the  other  extreme.  If  vio 
lence  did  result  it  was  Garrity's  affair — and  Gordon's. 
He  had  meant  to  suggest  no  such  ghastly  reprisal. 

Just  once  he  thought  of  a  way  back  which  still 
lay  open  to  him.  He  got  as  far  as  the  telephone 
before  his  nerve  forsook  him,  and  he  collapsed  in 
a  chair. 

Judge  Jameson  had  won  considerable  fame  as  a 
terror  at  cross-examination.  His  eloquent  forceful- 
ness,  dynamic  and  without  mercy,  in  summing  up 
before  a  jury,  had  torn  the  hope  from  the  eyes  of 
more  than  one  wretched  specimen  of  humanity,  who 
had  dared  to  hope,  pitifully  jaunty  and  assured,  unto 
the  very  eleventh  hour.  He  had  been  a  blast  of 
righteous  wrath  before  which  they  faltered  and  hung 
their  heads. 


26o  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

And  now  "Judge"  Jameson  could  not  hold  his 
own  head  erect.  In  a  way  his  perspective  had 
become  altered.  From  time  to  time  he  shuddered, 
as  if  from  a  chill.  To  hide  those  faces  which  he 
remembered  too  vividly  now,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  GREAT  CARL   HARDY 

TWO  nights  later,  seated  across  the  room 
from  her,  Jimmy  Gordon  laid  aside  the 
second  act,  which  he  had  finished  reading 
aloud,  and  lifted  his  head  to  Carol  Landis  with  an 
odd  admixture  of  apologetic  self-consciousness  and 
concern. 

"Of  course,  it's  still  very  much  in  the  rough,"  he 
ventured;  and  then,  noting  how  thoughtfully  quiet 
she  sat,  lapsed  into  silence  himself. 

After  waiting  for  two  days  for  him  to  try  again, 
Carol,  unerringly  certain  as  to  his  emotions  the 
afternoon  he  called  to  find  her  out,  had  called  him 
up  on  the  telephone,  partly  because  her  desire  to 
see  him  would  not  brook  further  delay,  partly  be 
cause  she  had,  that  very  afternoon,  received  from 
Hardy  an  unbelievably  hopeful  letter,  which  she 
did  not  immediately  mention  to  him,  however,  when 
he  arrived  at  eight  in  obedience  to  her  summons. 

For  the  excellence,  or  lack  of  it,  in  the  second  act 
he  had  just  finished  reading,  she  had  little  mind  for 
the  moment.  The  first  few  pages  had  convinced 
her  that  above  all  else  it  possessed  the  "human"  note 
which  Hardy  wrote  must  be  sustained  by  her  new 

261 


262  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

discovery  to  fulfil  the  great  promise  of  the  first  act 
she  had  sent  him.  It  was  her  very  familiarity  with 
the  material  which  went  to  form  these  new  scenes 
which  sent  through  her  a  wave  of  pity  and  a  hotter 
wave  of  pride. 

Never  until  then  had  she  been  able  to  understand 
the  hunger  of  the  boy  to  mingle  with  those  who 
would  have  none  of  his  society.  Even  in  the  days 
when  her  sympathy  had  been  readiest  and  her  scorn 
for  those  who  "dwelt  upon  the  hill"  a  very  real, 
though  carefully  concealed,  thing  in  his  presence,  she 
had  only  thought  to  understand.  She  pitied  that 
boy's  wistful  loneliness  now,  but  the  pride  which  her 
newer  discovery  had  brought  tugged  at  her  throat. 

The  Courier  extra  she  had  read,  and  wondered 
over  vastly.  Unbelievable  though  it  was,  there  were 
moments  when  she  was  almost  certain  that  she  had 
surprised  Jimmy  Gordon  in  the  highly  uncharacter 
istic  act  of  kicking  T.  Elihu  Banks  from  his  door 
step.  But  now  she  knew! 

Suddenly,  without  a  word,  she  rose  and  flew 
across  to  him  and  threw  both  arms  about  his  neck, 
drawing  his  head  against  her  brighter  one  as  im 
pulsively  and  quite  as  unconsciously  as  in  other  years. 

"Jimmy!"  she  gasped.  "And  I  never  suspected 
you !  I  thought  all  along — "  she  gave  up  trying  to 
explain  coherently,  and  laughed  unsteadily  instead. 
"I  never  can  tell  what  you  are  thinking  about,"  she 
finished  accusingly. 

And  Jimmy,  not  only  because  he  understood,  but 
also  because  he  felt  equally  as  sure  concerning  the 


THE  GREAT  CARL  HARDY         263 

impulse  which  had  tightened  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  reached  up  and  unwound  them,  as  casually  as 
he  had  done  when  an  undemonstrative  boy. 

"You  like  it?"  he  ventured  again.  "It's  not  too 
bad?" 

She  stood  a  moment,  a  little  disheveled,  looking 
down  at  him  from  very  brilliant,  suddenly  embar 
rassed  eyes.  Then  she  went  demurely  back  to  her 
chair. 

"What  a  forward  thing  for  me  to  do!  Please 
lay  it  to  my  temperament,  Jimmy,"  she  laughed.  But 
she  could  not  even  feign  lightness. 

"It's  wonderful !  It's — oh,  I'm  so  absurdly  glad. 
Years  ago  I  was  fraid  that  they'd  hurt  the  very  spirit 
of  you  beyond  all  mending.  Only  a  few  days  ago  at 
the  club  I  thought  you  were  still  bitter,  still  bewil 
dered  and  unable  to  understand."  She  pointed  to 
the  script,  and  startled  him  by  putting  into  words  one 
of  his  most  intimate  thoughts.  "I  thought  you  were 
one  of  the  cast,  playing  just  a  little,  and — and 
miserably  unhappy  part,  and  instead  you  were  merely 
watching  from  the  wings.  And  now  you've  written 
it  there — not  in  cynicism — not  with  satirical  mean 
ness  of  spirit.  Jimmy,  when  you  grin  that  crooked 
little  absent-minded  grin,  are  you — are  you  laughing 
hysterically  at  all  of  us  deep  within  yourself?" 

She  had  seen  him  flush  many  times  at  her  efforts 
to  peer  behind  his  preoccupation,  but  never  so  hotly 
before. 

"And  I  never  dreamed  it  until  now,"  she  mur 
mured.  "You  sober-faced,  blinking  fraud  I" 


264  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  him  to  say  in 
response  to  that.  He  continued  to  smile.  And 
thereupon  she  remembered  Hardy's  letter. 

'  .  .  .  Rarely  read  a  first  act  by  an  inexperienced 
playwright  which  was  so  finished  in  form  and  so  full 
of  promise.  If  your  new  discovery  (you  failed  to 
mention  his  name)  can  maintain  in  his  succeeding 
acts  the  note  of  simplicity  which  makes  his  work  so 
convincing  I  feel  certain  that  we  have  found  the 
vehicle  for  which  we  have  been  searching.  When 
in  Warchester  (if  possible  I  shall  see  you  within 
two  weeks)  will  it  be  feasible  to  discuss  this  with 
the  author  in  person?" 

There  was  a  sardonic  quality  in  Jimmy  s  expres 
sion  as  he  listened  to  that  letter.  Carol  almost  sur 
prised  it  as  she  looked  up,  at  the  end,  flushed  herself 
and  triumphant. 

"Bless  his  heart!"  she  said.  "And  think  of  it, 
Jimmy.  Hardy — the  great  Carl  Hardy!  But  I 
knew  he'd  be  just  like  that !" 

Indeed,  Jimmy  was  thinking  of  that  very  person, 
trying  hard  not  to  wish  the  man  less  worthy  of  the 
ecstatic  note  in  her  voice.  Before  all  other  men 
Jimmy  respected  and  valued  Carl  Hardy.  Suddenly 
he  had  learned  also  what  it  was  to  envy  him. 

"He  is  a — a  very  courteous  gentleman,"  he  an 
swered  slowly. 

The  girl's  perplexed  frown  passed  so  fleetly  before 
a  flash  of  amusement  that  he  utterly  failed  to  no 
tice  it. 

"He's  splendid !"  she  cried.  "Wait  until  you  really 


THE  GREAT  CARL  HARDY          265 

know  him.  Oh,  I've  never  been  quite  so  happy  in 
all  my  life  as  I  am  over  his  letter." 

"I  should  be — I  am  a  very  lucky  young  man," 
Jimmy  said. 

But,  in  taking  his  leave  a  few  minutes  later,  he 
restrained  amazingly  the  elation  which  a  struggling 
author  might  have  been  expected  to  display  upon  the 
tentative  acceptance  of  his  first  play. 

Because  she  seemed  not  to  feel  his  mood,  he 
congratulated  himself  that  it  was  well  hidden,  and 
he  was  turning  away  when  a  stifled  cry  from  her 
checked  him.  She  was  pointing  stiffly  at  a  patch  of 
shadow  on  the  lawn. 

"Someone  was  standing  there — back  of  that  tree," 
she  whispered.  "A  man  who  ran." 

Jimmy's  eyes  strained  in  the  direction  of  her  out 
stretched  arm.  Puzzled,  he  descended  the  steps. 

"If  he  was  there,"  he  came  back  to  dismiss  the 
occurrence  lightly,  for  he  believed  he  knew  the  ex 
planation  of  it,  "he's  taken  himself  off  in  a  hurry. 
But  if  you're  nervous " 

She  laughed,  not  quite  easily. 

"I'm  not,"  she  assured  him.  "Only — only  please 
don't  leave  the  lighted  streets  for  some  dark  short 
cut  on  your  way  back,  will  you,  Jimmy?  And  don't 
think  that  I'm  womanishly  absurd." 

He  promised,  and  promptly  forgot  all  about  it  in 
a  recollection  of  the  glowing  face  with  which  she  had 
read  Hardy's  letter.  And  so  Hardy  had  planned  to 
be  in  Warchester  in  two  weeks.  Well,  who  could 
help  but  care  for  Carl  Hardy! 


266  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

And  then,  with  the  alley  which  ran  past  the  Palace 
Theater  to  the  door  of  Hanlon's  Hotel  yawning 
black  before  him,  curiously  enough  he  remembered 
her  warning  and  his  promise,  and  smiled  over  it 
gravely.  He  stood  an  instant,  wondering  if  she  had 
already  promised  Hardy. 

His  heels  rang  measuredly  upon  the  alley  pave 
ment.  He  had  forgotten  again  the  blotch  of  shadow 
upon  the  lawn,  and  the  man  who  ran.  And  then 
there  was  a  stir,  soundless  and  sibilant,  close  behind 
him. 

Crouching,  he  sprang  into  the  deeper  shadow 
against  the  left  wall.  Hugging  that  blank,  brick  sur 
face,  he  crouched  and  ran  for  the  hotel  lights,  utterly 
without  shame  for  his  surrender  to  instinct.  And  he 
had  crossed  the  open  court,  and  was  reaching  out  to 
fling  open  the  door  when  his  hat  left  his  head  as  if 
plucked  therefrom  by  an  invisible  hand. 

Behind  him  a  yellow  flame  lanced  the  darkness. 
In  the  narrow  confines  of  the  alley  a  gun  roared 
deafeningly.  Mechanically  and  unheroically  Jimmy 
stooped  in  his  stride  to  pick  up  his  hat.  He  heard 
the  second  ball  thud  into  the  door  above  him,  waist- 
high,  had  he  been  erect. 

And  then  the  door  was  open,  and,  with  the  flood 
of  light  that  dazzled  his  eyes,  Hanlon  came  out  like 
an  avalanche.  His  mad  rush  swept  Jimmy  aside  like 
a  bit  of  chaff.  Like  an  avalanche,  he  went  roaring 
down  the  alley. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

SMALL  TOWN  STUFF 

AFTER   he   had   picked  himself   up,    Jimmy 
Gordon  stood  for  a  few  moments  motion 
less  before  the  hotel  entrance,  gazing  from 
the  hole  in  his  hat  to  the  one  waist-high  in  the  heavy 
door  of  Hanlon's,  with  an  emotion  so  peculiarly 
complex  that  he  was  entirely  unaware  of  the  little 
knot  of  people  which  began  instantly  to  collect  about 
him. 

Like  flies  to  tainted  meat,  the  first  gunshot,  the 
first  hint  of  violence,  had  brought  them  swarming 
from  what,  a  breath  before,  had  seemed  empty  court 
yard  and  emptier  alleyway;  hard-faced,  wise-eyed 
figures,  murmurous  without  being  noisy  about  it,  and 
differing  greatly  from  the  crowd  which  a  public  street 
accident  invariably  provokes,  in  that  they  maintained 
a  truly  notable  self-restraint.  The  central  figure, 
obviously  uninjured,  was  subjected  neither  to  absurd 
interrogations  anent  his  condition,  nor  called  upon  to 
lend  an  ear  to  unsought  opinion  concerning  his  assail 
ant.  In  truth,  so  unobtrusive  were  they  that  Hanlon 
had  come  stumping  back  up  the  alley  and  jostled 
roughly  through  to  his  side  before  Jimmy  realized 
that  he  was  no  longer  alone  upon  the  scene.  Hanlon 

267 


268  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

hooked  one  arm  through  his  elbow  and  led  him  in 
side  the  hotel. 

There  was  a  fresh  scar  on  the  inner  surface  of 
the  door  below  the  bullet-hole;  a  long  and  jagged 
splinter  lay  on  the  "office"  floor,  torn  loose  by  that 
bullet;  and  beyond,  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
fragments  of  plaster  from  the  wall. 

Jimmy  stood  staring  at  this  minor  damage,  un 
impeachable  confirmation  of  the  entirely  serious  and 
businesslike  intent  of  the  one  in  whose  hand  the  gun 
had  roared.  Humorously  aghast  when  he  lifted  his 
eyes,  Jimmy's  expression  became  sheepish  as  he  per 
ceived  the  fierce  anxiety  in  Hanlon's  regard. 

"I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  hastily  reassuring.  "I 
leaned  over  to  pick  up  my  hat  just  before  he  fired 
the  second  time.  The  first  one — "  He  seemed  to 
find  the  explanation  too  preposterously  theatrical  for 
words,  and  merely  pointed  shamefacedly  at  the  hole 
in  his  hat. 

But  there  was  no  visible  softening  in  Hanlon's 
features,  nor  did  his  rigid  body  relax.  Instead,  his 
wooden  leg  thumped  most  mightily  upon  the  floor 
as  he  sprang  toward  a  window  behind  that  chair 
toward  which  the  younger  man  turned.  And  yet, 
quick  as  he  was — and  there  was  a  ferocious  instan- 
taneousness  in  his  action — the  white-faced  waiter 
whose  body  looked  soft  and  flabby  was  incredibly 
quicker.  He  leaped  and  drew  the  shade  against  the 
outer  blackness  of  the  night,  and  then  moved  the 
chair  farther  down  the  wall. 

At  that  the  editor  of  the  Courier  stood  and  gazed 


SMALL  TOWN  STUFF  269 

from  one  face  to  the  other.  Hanlon's  was  as  bleak 
as  a  wind-worn  wall  of  rock,  and  as  dire.  Upon 
the  waiter's  countenance  there  was  nothing  readable. 
Many  a  time  Jimmy  had  seen  him  spread  a  fresh 
cloth  in  the  dining-room  with  a  greater  display  of 
emotion.  And  suddenly  he  felt  unconscionably 
foolish. 

Somehow,  up  to  that  point,  the  incident  had  im 
pressed  him  as  freakishly  unreal;  it  had  all  happened 
too  swiftly  to  be  definitely  dismaying.  And  now, 
this  last  precaution,  the  pulling  of  the  shade,  seemed 
little  short  of  farcical.  With  the  disappearance  of 
the  faintly  crooked  deprecatory  grin,  with  which  he 
had  first  faced  Hanlon,  his  color  heightened,  until 
more  than  anything  else  he  suggested  a  man  self 
consciously  realizing  himself  to  be  the  butt  of  a  prac 
tical  joke. 

"See  here,  Pegleg,"  he  expostulated,  surprised  to 
find  that  his  voice  was  not  quite  steady.  "Why,  man, 
you  don't  mean  that  you  think  those  bullets  were 
really  intended  for  me!" 

"For  whom,  thin?"  demanded  Hanlon. 

Jimmy  blinked  at  that  laconic  abruptness. 

"I — I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  he  faltered.  "I 
thought,  perhaps,  some  of  your  precious  patrons  had 
developed  a  mutual  distaste  for  each  other,  or — 
or " 

A  look  passing  wonder  crossed  his  face,  and  he 
broke  off  speaking  to  grope  dizzily  behind  him. 
Chancing  to  glance  again  at  the  door,  blazed  waist- 
high  by  the  second  ball,  he  had  experienced  an  in- 


270  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

explicable  faintness  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  Hanlon 
nodded  crisply  in  comprehension. 

"Ye'll  do  betther  sittin'  down,"  he  said,  "till  ye're 
steadier  in  the  knees.  'Twas  a  dir-rty  shot,  sweetly 
placed — the  first  wan  was  hurried."  He  turned  to 
the  white-aproned  waiter,  who  had  begun  to  move 
toward  the  door.  "Ye'll  bide  a  bit,"  he  ordered; 
and  then  as  shortly  to  Jimmy:  "Now,  unless  ye  feel 
too  little  like  talkin' " 

Hanlon's  attitude  toward  the  occurrence  began  to 
be  very  clear,  and  there  was  little  excuse  to  miscon 
strue  the  meaning  in  his  unfinished  suggestion.  But 
when  Jimmy,  in  a  fashion  half-puzzled  and  wholly 
out  of  countenance,  began  his  recital  with  that 
moment  when  he  had  hesitated  at  the  mouth  of  the 
alley,  Hanlon  checked  him  impatiently. 

"At  the  beginnin',  an'  ye  don't  mind,"  he  snapped. 

So,  after  a  moment's  thought,  Jimmy  began 
farther  back,  with  a  report  of  T.  Elihu's  second  visit 
to  the  Courier  office,  and  an  almost  facetious  explan 
ation  of  the  business  which  had  brought  him  there. 

"Thirty  thousand  was  his  figure,  Pegleg,"  he  said, 
"and  a  very  handsome  and  liberal  one,  I'd  call  it. 
You'll  admit  that  the  temptation  was  considerable. 
If  I  hadn't  known  that  Tivotson  was  waiting  on  the 
stairs,  to  help  escort  the  august  gentleman  to  the 
street  level,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  might — — " 
He  laughed,  but  Pegleg  did  not  join  in  his  amuse 
ment.  Instead,  a  light,  which  disturbed  him  more 
than  vaguely,  flashed  for  an  instant  in  those  polished 
agate  eyes. 


SMALL  TOWN  STUFF  27 1 

Without  comment,  Hanlon  waited  until  the 
younger  man  made  mention  of  the  man  in  the  shadow 
on  Carol  Landis's  lawn — the  man  who  ran — and  the 
girl's  admonishment  to  avoid  the  byways  and  stick 
to  the  highways  which  were  well  lighted;  but  there 
he  gave  voice  to  a  savagely  exaultant  exclamation, 
and  wheeled  toward  the  waiter. 

"There  was  never  any  doubt  from  the  begin 
ning,"  he  rumbled.  "  'was  a  waste  of  time,  but  ye'll 
waste  no  more." 

Immediately  watching  the  change  that  came  over 
that  waiter's  face,  Jimmy  felt  his  spine  crawl. 
Theatrical  or  not,  farcical  or  otherwise,  up  to  that 
point,  the  evening's  events  achieved  suddenly,  even 
in  his  eyes,  a  sinister  aspect.  Until  then  Jimmy  had 
never  seen  that  white-aproned  one  smile,  nor  known 
him  to  offer  speech.  Now  the  contented  cruelty  of 
his  grin  was  as  amazing  as  the  perfect  precision  of 
his  words  and  accent. 

"Am  I  to  reason  with  him,"  the  waiter  asked 
softly,  "and  try  to  convince  him  of  the  error  of  his 
ways  ?" 

The  wicked  leer  in  the  query  held  Jimmy  dumb. 
He  waited  to  protest  against  such  dispassionate  dis 
cussion  of  a  man's  disposal,  to  cry  out  against  this 
mummery  which  was  so  unexpectedly,  so  insanely  am 
bitious  of  a  tragic  mask.  But  Hanlon  maintained 
a  sort  of  surface  complacency;  even  with  black,  blind 
rage  struggling  for  utterance. 

"Till  I  give  ye  the  worrud,  ye  livid-lipped  mon 
goose,"  he  answered,  "till  I  give  ye  the  worrud,  ye'll 


272  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

keep  yere  lingers  from  his  throat.  Ye'll  find  him 
first,  and  when  ye  do  ye'll  report  back  here  to  me. 
I'm  eager  like  for  a  worrud  in  the  gintleman's  ear 
meself." 

And  Jimmy,  still  unable  to  speak,  sat  and  watched 
the  waiter  lay  aside  his  white  apron  and  turn  toward 
the  door.  He  noticed  how  the  man's  hands  hung 
palms  out,  noticed  his  changed  gait.  There  was  fas 
cination  in  those  light  footfalls.  And  then,  after  the 
door  had  opened  and  closed,  he  shot  to  his  feet  and 
started  to  follow;  realized  the  weak  futility  of  that 
impulse;  whirled  to  find  Pegleg  watching  him.  All 
but  a  word  or  two  was  hushed  by  the  look  upon 
Pegleg's  face. 

"You  can't  turn  that — that  beast  loose,  Pegleg," 
he  exclaimed.  "Good  God,  man,  it's — it's  ridiculous 
— preposterous!  It's  mad!  It's  opera-bouffe  gone 
mad!  And  he  licked  his  lips  as  he  went  out,  as 
though  he  were  already  tasting  blood." 

Pegleg's  calmness  hushed  him. 

"So  ye're  in  earnest  at  last,  are  ye?"  he  asked, 
a  strange  tinge  of  reproach  in  his  voice.  '  'Tis  no 
longer  merely  entertaining  an'  amusin'-like  to  you?" 
He  laughed  an  ugly  chuckle,  grew  quickly  sober 
again,  and  jerked  a  thumb  toward  the  fresh  blaze 
on  the  door. 

"An'  was  that  a  bit  av  absurdity,  too?"  he  in 
quired.  "Was  that  intirely  ridiculous?  Faith,  an' 
ye've  never  seen  a  man  die,  have  ye,  who's  afther 
got  it  through  the  belt?  Pfaugh!  'Tis  a  sick  place 
to  be  shot!" 


SMALL  TOWN  STUFF  273 

Thereupon  Jimmy  was  possessed  of  a  strange  con 
viction.  Indeed,  Hanlon  had  spoken  accurately. 
Until  that  moment,  in  spirit  he  had  been  nothing 
more  or  less  than  a  quietly  amused  onlooker  in  War- 
chester,  who  had  thought  merely  to  aggravate  a  sit 
uation  or  two  for  his  own  private  and  whimsical 
purpose.  In  all  that  had  taken  place  since  his  return, 
he  had  been  conscious  only  of  that  element  of  human 
comedy,  valuable  indeed  to  him,  which  seemed  to 
yield  harmlessly  enough  to  his  desire. 

He  came  to  believe  now  that  the  threat  of  violence 
which  was  stalking  not  himself,  but  the  poor,  un 
known  enthusiast,  who  crack-brained  no  doubt  in  the 
first  place,  and  inflamed  to  hatred  by  the  Courier's 
lighthearted  attacks  upon  T.  Elihu's  immaculateness, 
had  fired  at  him,  was  as  utterly  a  thing  of  his  own 
creation.  He  was  convinced  that  the  blame  was  his, 
if  violence  did  result.  And  Pegleg,  his  suspicions 
already  stirred  on  another  occasion,  saw  the  guilty 
consternation  upon  his  face,  and  grew  very,  very  sure 
of  his  ground. 

He  leaned  forward  to  put  a  hand  upon  the  young 
man's  knee. 

"Jimmy,  lad,"  he  said,  "just  once  ye've  lied  to  me 
— just  once,  these  last  few  days,  because  ye  have  not 
told  me  the  whole  truth.  Sur-re  an'  your  own  affairs 
are  your  own,  an'  ye  wish  to  keep  thim  to  yerself. 
But  it  shames  me  to  meself  to  have  been  so  easily 
fooled. 

"YeVe  been  home  but  a  little  time,  reckoned  in 
days.  More  in  hours  and  more  than  that  in  minutes, 


274  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

an'  I've  known  many  a  man,  through  inattention  to 
detail  and  lack  av  observation,  to  achieve  a  prema- 
tuer  eternity  in  the  fraction  av  a  second,  'tis  true. 
I  should  have  guessed  it  at  the  first  second  I  saw  ye, 
yet  ye  fooled  me,  what  with  yer  blinkin'  lids  and 
lazy  grin.  I  thought  to  welcome  ye  back  tired  av 
the  husks,  and  mabby  with  the  taste  av  failure  grown 
bitter  in  yere  belly.  An'  instead,  'twas  good  fortune 
ye'd  found — ye  were  certian  to  do  that — and  shame 
to  me  perspicacity.  But  ye'll  talk  now,  an'  I'll 
listen." 

A  gust  of  confusion  flushed  Jimmy's  thin  face. 
Guiltier  than  ever,  and  more  than  ever  self-conscious, 
he  sat  trying  to  meet  Hanlon's  level  regard.  And 
then,  without  defense  or  comment,  in  a  halting  fash 
ion  that  matched  the  quizzical  look  that  had  come 
back  into  his  eyes,  he  "talked"  as  Hanlon  bade  him. 

At  times  the  huge  and  grizzled  figure  opposite  him 
nodded  his  head  understandingly,  while  Jimmy  spoke 
with  transparent  jauntiness  of  prolonged  periods 
when  even  "husks"  had  been  extremely  acceptable. 
Oftener  he  listened  with  downcast  eyes  and  bushy 
eyebrows  drawn  together  in  a  beetling  frown,  so  that 
the  speaker  saw  little  of  the  glow  which  a  mention 
of  "As  Ye  Sow"  and  "Unless  Ye  Believe"  kindled  in 
his  eyes — two  metropolitan  successes  credited  to  the 
pen  of  one  Gordon  James,  a  playwright  essentially 
American,  both  in  form  and*  philosophy.  He  was 
still  frowning  when  Jimmy  apprized  him  of  the  real 
errand  which  had  brought  him  back  to  Warchester, 


SMALL  TOWN  STUFF  275 

and    halted    there,    lamely    apologetic    once    more. 

"You  mustn't  believe  that  I  hit  upon  the  idea  with 
a  thought  to  patronize,  or — or  caricature — or  lam 
poon,  Pegleg,"  he  attempted,  finding  the  huge  man's 
silence  unendurable. 

And  then  Pegleg's  head  came  up.  He  was  smiling 
enigmatically,  though  his  lips  were  still  grim. 

"To  obsarve  and  chronicle  the  city  of  War- 
chester,"  he  proceeded  to  make  of  the  explanation  an 
amiably  satirical  digest,  "and  turn  her  into  a  play-act 
to  make  a  holiday  for  the  multitudes."  He  nodded 
again,  his  eyes  twinkling  momentarily.  'Twas  like 
ye.  Yours  was  a  peculiar  brand  av  cussedness 
always.  Always  ye  had  to  put  yere  hand  into  the 
fire  to  find  out  that  the  fire  burned.  Hearsay  never 
satisfied  ye;  second-hand  knowledge  was  never  for 
the  likes  av  ye. 

"I  could  tell  ye  how  glad  I  am;  I  could  say  I 
knew  ye'd  do  it  some  day,  only  there  is  too  much 
language  squandered  every  day  without  me  indulging 
in  loquacious  transparencies.  I  could  even  regret  the 
pity  I've  wasted  on  ye,  and  the  hungry  hopes  I've  had 
that  ye'd  win  through,  but  'tis  something  else  I've 
in  mind — wan  point  that  is  not  so  clear  to  me,  nor 
to  you,  either,  I'm  thinkin'. 

"Ye  say  that  ye  wrote  an  act  that  once  ye  lived, 
some  eight  years  ago,  and,  by  the  saints,  didn't  I 
watch  ye  live  it!  Ye  say  ye've  come  back  to  lave 
this  community  finish  yere  play  for  ye,  because  it  must 
be  real — because  it  must  be  as  true  to  type  as  the 
part  ye  lived  yerself.  And  yet  ye  sat  there,  a  minute 


276  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

back,  and  believed  that  ye  were  alone  responsible  for 

that "    He  indicated  the  plaster  spattered  by  the 

ball  on  the  floor.  "Aye,  lad,  I  saw  it  in  yere  eyes. 
In  yere  eyes  'twas  an  unforseen  and  annoyin'  develop 
ment  which  ye  believed  ye  should  and  could  have 
anticipated  and  prevented. 

"Faith,  ye've  become  twisted  about.  Y've  lost 
yere  old  tr-rick  av  clear  reason.  Perfessin'  yourself 
eager  to  write  whatever  was  provided  for  yere  pencil, 
because  yere  the  same  boy  who  wore  fringe  to  his 
pants  in  the  pursuit  av  knowledge  which  ye  believed 
was  essential,  already  ye've  been  thinkin'  to  persuade 
this  town  to  a  performance  which  fits  yere  own  pre 
conceived  notions  av  what  such  a  nice  orderly  per 
formance  should  be.  Ah,  lad,  I  tell  ye  now,  you're 
not  stage-manager  enough  for  that — you  nor  I,  Elihu 
Banks,  either!" 

They  sat  gazing  earnestly  into  each  other's  eyes, 
Jimmy's  alight  not  only  with  startled  appreciation  of 
the  justice  of  the  crafty  criticism,  but  anticipation  as 
well  for  that  which  most  certainly  it  must  preface; 
Pegleg's  aglow  with  the  fervor  of  his  preachment. 

"But  it  was  all  sheer  comedy,"  Jimmy  argued 
flatly,  at  length.  "Even  T.  Elihu's  visit,  and  my 
disgraceful  conduct  toward  him,  and  Tivotson.  Why, 
even  his  offer  of  hush  money " 

"Ye  think  so?"  Hanlon's  voice  rose  until  it 
boomed  through  the  room.  "Ye  think  so  An'  from 
which  point  av  view — yere  newly  acquired  wan  based 
upon  a  balance  in  the  bank  and  siveral  tr-runks  full 


SMALL  TOWN  STUFF  277 

av  clothes,  or  that  av  the  lean  an'  hungry  divil  ye 
were — in  the  prologue  av  the  piece?  Thin  what 
about  old  Dave  Landis?  By  the  same  token,  was 
the  willin'  av  the  Courier  to  you,  which  made  the 
visit  av  the  great  Mr.  Banks  an  unplisant  necessity — 
was  that  a  travisty,  too?  Faith  in  retribution  is 
going  out  av  fashion,  but  I  am  one  of  the  simple- 
minded  who  still  hold  to  the  belief.  I  witnessed  that 
will,  just  as,  for  years,  I  witnessed  the  slow  ruin  av 
the  man  who  made  it." 

He  paused  as  if  to  give  the  other  a  fair  chance 
to  reply,  but  Jimmy  sat  silent,  staring  hard  into 
Hanlon's  seamed  face. 

"Y've  mixed  up  yere  viewpoints,"  the  latter  went 
on,  when  it  was  clear  to  him  that  the  other  did  not 
mean  to  speak,  "ye'll  need  to  go  back  to  that  av  the 
bhoy  ye  were  eight  years  ago,  whin  thirty  thousand 
would  have  been  something  more  than  a  joke  to 
chuckle  over  within  yerself,  to  regain  yere  needed 
perspective.  Yet  if  humor  ye  still  insist  the  offer 
av  that  triflin'  sum  to  be,  then  we'll  consider  the  girl 
called  Melody,  who  found  living  hard  and  dying 
easy.  Ye've  not  forgot  the  day  ye  searched  for  a 
man  to  preach  her  funeral  service,  I'll  warrant,  for 
'twas  not  so  long  ago  ye  set  forth  on  that  errand. 
No?  An'  yet  ye  fail  to  remimber  a  night  eight  yeans 
ago — a  night  they  gave  ye  twenty-four  hours  to  leave 
town?  That  hole  in  your  hat?  That  bullet  splash 
there  in  me  wall!  Lad — lad,  eight  years  ago,  she 
whom  we  knew  as  Melody  gave  Whitey  Garritty  the 
cue  for  them  two  shots  that  missed  ye  tonight  whin 


278  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

she  sint  a  chair  rockettin'  across  a  table  into  his  bad 
face,  and  saved  ye  alive  to  write  plays. 

"What?"    Jimmy's  voice  rang  like  a  shot. 

Hanlon  stopped  him  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

"Who  else  did  ye  think  it  was  ?  He  promised  then 
— he's  promised  often  enough  since  that  he'd  one  day 
get  ye.  And  has  it  not  been  made  easy  for  him,  and 
safe?" 

Pegleg  sat  and  shook  his  head  from  side  to  side. 

"Ye  are  a  grave  disappointment  to  me.  Ye  never 
took  yerself  seriously — praise  God  for  that,  for  ye'd 
have  been  dead  by  now  if  ye  had — but,  Jimmy,  ye've 
underestimated  the  town  that  never  would  have  aught 
av  ye,  the  town  that  taught  ye  half  av  one  hard  les 
son,  and  to  which  ye  claimed  to  return  shtill  a  stu 
dent." 

Again  he  had  to  lift  a  preemptory  hand. 

"Aye,  I  know!  Small  town  stuff,  I've  heard  it 
called  with  supreme  scorn.  Small  town  stuff ! — and 
ye'll  not  endeavor  to  protest  till  I  have  finished,  for 
'twill  avail  ye  little !  'Tis  a  favorite  phrase  av  the 
sophisticated  dwellers  in  this  metropolis  or  that;  a 
patronizing  estimate — an'  I  do  not  mean  to  throw 
yer  words  in  yer  face — av  the  imitation,  inadequate 
wickedness  av  provincial  places. 

"Pfaugh!  Blind  fools!  The  wan  worst  com 
munity  I  ever  knew  was  a  town  av  four  hundred 
souls.  Aye,  ye're  still  younger  than  I  thought,  for 
by  the  blessed  grace  av  youth,  ye've  half  forget  what 
once  ye  knew  to  yere  sorrow.  Meanness  is  not  a 
matther  of  geography,  nor  does  viciousness  depend 


SMALL  TOWN  STUFF  279 

upon  population.  Human  nature  is  human  nature,  ir- 
rispective  av  longitude  or  latitude,  or  the  last  cinsus 
report.  Jimmy,  lad,  ye've  felt  foolish  this  night, 
ye've  felt  ashamed  av  yerself  for  participatin'  in  a 
performance  so  theatrical  an'  silly,  when  ye  should 
have  been  thankin'  hiven  that  ye  ar're  not  lyin'  yon 
der  on  the  pavement  coughin'  to  keep  yere  throat 
clear  av  blood. 

"But  ye'll  take  it  more  serious-like  now — or  would 
ye  still  be  thinkin'  to  change  the  greed  av  T.  Elihu 
Banks,  the  hope  av  the  Civic  Reform  party  for  U.  S. 
Senator,  by  a  few  minor  alterations  av  yere  play- 
dialogue  ?  Would  ye  still  think  to.  correct  District 
Attorney  Jameson's  interpretation  av  his  role,  and 
recast  him  as  an  honest  man,  with  a  man's  instincts 
and  courage,  instead  av  the  desperation  av  a  cor 
nered  rat?" 

Jimmy  sat  gazing  at  the  floor. 

"I  understand,"  he  said  heavily.  "You  speak  as 
though  you  were,  sure,  and  yet " 

"Ther-re  ar're  iliments  av  dr-rama  which  ye  have 
overlooked.  Shall  I  be  afther  sketchin'  for  ye,  with 
out  claim  to  literary  excellence,  a  scene  or  two  which, 
mayhap,  ye  have  failed  to  imagine?" 

Jimmy  signed  with  a  shake  of  his  head  the  need- 
lessness  of  such  a  course. 

"I  understand,"  he  repeated  slowly.  "You  think 
Banks  went  to  Jameson  after  he  saw  me,  and  that 
Jameson  went  to  Garritty." 

"Garritty  went  to  Jameson,"  Hanlon  corrected 
him,  "at  Jameson's  order,  or  to  be  choice  av  words 


28o  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

an'  their  meanin',  at  Jameson's  invitation.  And 
Jameson  told  him  that  there  might  be  a  new  district- 
attorney  to  try  his  case,  come  the  next  session  av 
court,  what  with  the  return  av  Jimmy  Gordon  to 
Warchester." 

The  editor  of  the  Courier  did  not  reply  imme 
diately.  He  rose,  with  an  odd  air  of  preoccupation, 
and  paced  several  times  the  length  of  the  room  and 
back,  his  tall  body  slightly  stooped,  his  thin  features 
averted.  Once  he  stopped  and  stood  rubbing  his 
chin  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  his  back  to  the  huge 
and  grizzled  man  who  watched  him  with  growing 
trouble  in  his  gaze. 

"It's  damned  disconcerting,"  he  murmured  loud 
enough  for,  Hanlon  to  hear  him,  "damned  annoying. 
That  was  your  word,  I  believe." 

Thereupon  Hanlon's  fierce  old  eyes  were  no  longer 
merely  troubled.  They  glistened  with'  a  look  close 
akin  to  actual  fright,  fear  of  utter  disillusionment. 
Twice  he  cleared  his  throat,  yet  the  voice  he  sum 
moned,  though  gruffer  than  before,  was  heavy,  too, 
with  disappointment. 

"I've  heard  that  manny  a  successful  play  has  been 
written  in  a  three-room  suite  overlookin'  the  Aveny- 
noo,"  he  ventured.  "The  old  belief  in  the  inspiration 
to  be  won  in  an  unheated  attic  was  long  since  proved 
to  be  as  false  as  the  handicap  av  three  meals  a  day. 
An'  ye  did  not  come  here  to  embroil  yerself  in  a 
political  vendetta." 

Hungrily  he  waited  for  his  answer.  It  gave  him 
small  comfort  when  it  came. 


SMALL  TOWN  STUFF  281 

"That's  true,"  said  Jimmy,  ruminatingly.  "And 
that's  not  the  worst  of  it,  either.  I  was  thinking — 
of  your  criticism  of  my  fickle  point  of  view.  I'm 
afraid,  Pegleg,  it'll  be  necessary  for  me  to  change 
the  entire  plan  of  my  third  act." 

At  that  Hanlon's  hands  gripped  the  arms  of  his 
chair  until  the  knot-like  knuckles  turned  blue.  Slowly, 
then,  he  came  to  his  feet — tensely.  Jimmy  wheeled 
to  front  him.  The  face  that  he  presented  to  Han- 
Ion's  eager  scrutiny  was  not  the  face  of  the  Jimmy 
Gordon  who  had  attempted  an  interruption  a  few 
minutes  before.  And  as  Pegleg  had  silenced  him 
then,  so  now  he  silenced  Pegleg.  His  stiff  guesture 
matched  the  sternness  of  his  pale  eyes  and  slightly 
crooked  lips.  There  was  neither  mildness,  nor  a 
trace  of  his  old-time  perpetual  apology  upon  him. 

"Just  an  opportunist,  eh,  Pegleg?"  His  voice  held 
a  note  of  sadness.  "And  something  of  a  poltroon! 
Ah,  I'd  never  have  believed  it  of  you.  I  always 
counted  on  a  more  generous  estimate — from  you  and 
from  one  other." 

The  shaggy  head  bowed. 

"Twice  ye've  fooled  me,  twice  now,"  he  muttered 
humbly.  But  his  words  trembled  with  exultance. 
"An*  how  much  have  ye  got  written,  already,  lad,  on 
yere  play-act?  For,  if  ye'll  not  smile  at  me  curiosity, 
'tis  keen  I  am  to  read  it.  ...  The  play's  the  thing 
— aye,  the  play's  the  thing!  All  the  world's  a 
stage!" 

Jimmy  approached  the  window  and  shot  up  the 
shade,  this  time  without  objection  from  Hanlon.  In 


282  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

the  east  the  sky  was  graying  with  the  first  promise 
of  dawn,  and  a  moment  later  when  Hanlon  moved 
to  his  side,  he  saw  that  the  boy's  eyes  were  turned 
toward  that  section  of  the  city  still  designated  by 
the  phrase  "up  on  the  hill." 

It  had  been  upon  the  old  man's  tongue  to  express 
profound  thankfulness  that  he  was  not  Elihu  Banks 
or  District  Attorney  Jameson  that  night.  One 
glimpse  of  the  other's  face  checked  him. 

Jimmy  was  thinking  of  "Old  Dave"  Landis — and 
"Old  Dave"  Landis's  daughter.  Until  then  he  had 
never  fully  realized  the  measure  of  her  bravery — the 
measure  of  her  kindness  to  the  boy  he  had  been. 
How  cheerfully,  how  persistently  she  had  given  of 
her  courage.  And  how  matter-of-fact  had  been  his 
acceptance.  It  was  given  to  him  to  know  at  that 
moment  that  tomorrow  he  would  tell  her,  as  best  he 
could.  .  .  . 

As  he  laid  one  hand  upon  Hanlon's  arm,  the  sun 
edged  up  over  the  horizon  and  touched  the  dingy 
roofs  with  rose.  Even  the  scum  on  the  river  shim 
mered  and  was  beautiful. 

There  was  poetry  in  the  soul  of  the  proprietor  of 

Hanlon's  place.     He  had  a  prophet's  clear  vision. 

'Tis  tomorrow  already,  lad,"  he  murmured,  and 

pointed  with  a  gnarled  forefinger.     "Aye — and  'tis 

not  such  a  bad  town  afther  all." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JUST  JIMMY  GORDON 

JIMMY  went  to  sleep  that  morning,  almost  as 
soon   as   his   head  touched   the   pillow,    and 
though  he  was  half  conscious  at  times  of  the 
presence  of  Abel  who  came  a-tiptoe  once  to  draw 
the  shades  against  the  bold  summer  sunshine,  and 
again   and   again   to    fuss   and   putter   with   them 
officiously,  it  was  late  afternoon  before  he  awakened 
to  find  himself  possessed  of  a  strange  excitement. 

For  a  time  he  lay  motionless,  quite  unaware  either 
of  the  hour,  or  the  day,  or  the  week,  drowsily  trying 
to  reconcile  the  incident  of  the  previous  evening  with 
the  humming  stillness  and  his  present  persistent  pre 
monition  of  an  impending  event  of  surpassing  glory. 
He  had  almost  convinced  himself  that  both  the 
strange  premonition  and  the  bullet-hole  in  the  door 
downstairs,  were  as  much  a  part  of  a  dream  as  was 
his  recollection  of  the  ringing  of  many  bells,  when 
Abel,  entering  again,  with  caution  so  elaborate  that 
it  defeated  the  end  it  should  have  served,  since  in 
watching  his  histrionic  effort  in  the  mirror,  he  blun 
dered  into  a  chair,  rolled  his  eyes,  saw  that  his  em 
ployer  was  already  awake,  and  proceeded  to  set  him 

283 


284  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

right  forthwith  concerning  the  latter  phenomenon. 

Abel  bewailed  the  church  chimes,  and  expressed 
hope  that  they  had  not  spoiled  "Mr.  Goh'don's" 
slumbers.  And  at  that  Jimmy  raised  himself  on  one 
elbow,  with  a  show  of  haste  somewhat  startling  to 
the  gentleman  of  color.  Of  course !  No  wonder  he 
had  wakened  with  a  sense  of  impending  events  of 
large  importance.  Upon  retiring  he  had  entertained 
a  very  definite  plan  for  this  Sabbath  afternoon.  But 
with  the  first  move,  which  raised  him  enough  to  bring 
the  top  of  the  table  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  into  his 
range  of  vision,  much  of  his  excitement  and  happy 
spontaneity  of  purpose  left  him. 

There  was  a  letter  face  up  on  the  table,  and  the 
appearance  of  it  was  familiar — too  disconcertingly, 
unpleasantly  familiar.  Long  after  Abel  had  shot  up 
the  shades,  and  brought  it  to  him,  with  the  explana 
tion  that  it  had  come  in  on  a  late  mail,  had  been 
delivered  at  the  Courier  office,  whence  Tivotson  had 
dispatched  it,  thinking  it  might  be  of  importance, 
Jimmy  sat  gazing  at  Carl  Hardy's  letter.  And  then 
he  laid  it  aside  unopened.  It  was  a  disturbing  thing 
— in  a  way  almost  portentous — but  though  his  spirits 
suffered  a  sudden  drop  he  still  clung  to  his  Sabbath 
plan,  or  what  was  left  of  it.  But  he  no  longer  felt 
exhilaration — no  longer  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  the 
adventure. 

He  rose  and  dressed  with  a  profound  preoccupa 
tion  that  was  proof  against  even  Abel's  garrulity. 

"Ain'  goin'  see  'at  ole  boy  roun'  this  heah  town 
again,"  he  heard  the  gentleman  of  color  declare, 


JUST  JIMMY  GORDON  285 

without  realizing  that  he  was  bewailing  the  lack  of 
success  which  had  attended  the  flabby-looking 
waiter's  search  for  Garritty.  "Ain'  no  need  lookin' 
foh  him  no  mo'  heahabouts.  'At  boy  on  his  way 
by  now — on  his  way!" 

Jimmy  murmured  that  doubtless  such  was  the  case, 
and  gave  his  entire  attention  to  perfecting  the  knot 
of  his  scarf.  Abel  was  a  trifle  dashed  by  his  manner. 
His  last  observation  had  impressed  him  as  the  best 
of  his  many  attempts  to  approach  conversationally 
the  wholly  delightful  topic  of  his  employer's  newest 
bid  for  notoriety,  and  the  result  was  definitely  dis 
couraging.  Therefore  he  was  doubly  astonished  the 
next  instant  at  winning  his  entire  attention,  by  almost 
no  effort  at  all. 

Jimmy  had  finished  with  his  scarf,  and  turned. 
And  at  the  same  moment,  without  a  thought  that  it 
was  to  prove  in  any  way  a  sensation,  Abel  drew  from 
a  side  pocket  of  his  coat  a  small,  flat  automatic  pis 
tol,  dull  with  oil  and  destructively  beautiful,  and 
tendered  it  quite  casually  enough,  a  final  touch*  for 
an  otherwise  nicely  complete  toilet.  The  effect  was 
electrical — instantaneous.  But  Jimmy's  new  bearing, 
while  vastly  different,  was  even  less  satisfactory  than 
his  previous  absent-mindedness. 

Staring  at  that  compact  firearm  in  Abel's  out 
stretched  hand,  his  face  grew  redder  and  redder,  until 
Abel,  thinking  to  read  anger  in  that  painful  flush, 
sought  to  clear  himself  by  placing  the  blame  for  the 
tactless  blunder  on  one  higher  up. 

"Hanlon,  he  done  ordah  me  to  give  it  to  you," 


286  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

he  explained.  "She  ain'  big,  and  she  ain'  bulky. 
Nobody  ain'  goin'  suspect  she  there  in  you  pocket  at 
all.  But,  O  my,  she  badl  She  bad  when  yuh  tuhn 
her  loose!" 

Undoubtedly  "she"  would  be.  "She"  had  a  blunt 
and  businesslike  look;  and  yet  Jimmy's  face,  instead 
of  exhibiting  appreciation  of  the  very  certain  sense  of 
security  which  such  a  possession  might  be  expected  to 
awake,  only  grew  the  redder. 

On  rising,  quite  automatically  his  mind  had  re 
verted  to  his  first  estimate  of  the  encounter  with 
Garritty,  if  encounter  it  could  be  called  in  the  full 
recollection  of  his  ignominious  flight  up  the  alley. 
The  affair  of  the  pistol  not  only  worked  a  rapid 
readjustment,  but  projected  another  angle  of  the 
entire  affair  as  well. 

"Damnation!"  he  ejaculated,  and  instinctively  dis 
creet,  Abel  drew  back  the  hand  which  held  the  offen 
sive  object.  "This  is  going  altogether  too  far.  With 
a  little  more  such  advertising,  Hanlon'll  have  the 
thing  spread  all  over  town." 

At  that  outburst  Abel's  confusion  .was  plainly  evi 
denced.  He  stood  and  looked  hard  at  his  employer, 
realizing  with  difficulty  that  he  meant  just  what  he 
said,  and  not  the  exact  opposite,  as  was  the  inexplic 
able  way  of  white  folks,  ofttimes,  when  humorously 
inclined. 

"All  ovah  town?"  the  gentleman  of  color  echoed 
wonderingly.  "You  mean — "  But  he  abandoned 
the  question,  deciding  that  the  meaning  could  be  none 
other.  "Mist'  Goh'don,"  he  said,  importantly,  "no 


JUST  JIMMY  GORDON  287 

advertisin'  am'  necessary.  Since  daybreak  this  heah 
community  ain'  been  talkin'  of  nuthin'  else." 

Jimmy's  hot  color  began  to  go,  but  his  manner 
remained  somewhat  desperately  harassed.  So,  unob 
trusively,  Abel  slipped  the  gun  out  of  sight,  and 
busied  himself  exceedingly,  for  the  nonce,  doing  noth 
ing  at  all  with  a  flourish,  yet  giving  the  impression 
of  one  attending  to  large  affairs  too  long  neglected. 
And  then,  at  the  sound  of  his  employer's  sudden 
laughter,  he  desisted  as  suddenly.  He  wheeled  with 
a  thankful  expression  in  his  eyes,  even  hinted  hope 
fully  at  the  pocket  in  which  lay  the  gun,  but  still 
laughing,  Jimmy  checked  him  with  a  gesture. 

"Is  Hanlon  in?"  he  asked,  conscious  of  the  count 
less  times  he  had  asked  the  colored  man  the  same 
question. 

Abel  shook  his  head. 

"He  ain'  been  home  sense  mawnin'.  He  told  me 
to  remind  you  to  be  roun'  tonight.  Some  gentlemen 
comin'  in  foh  a  little  'lection  conference." 

"Of  course."  And  after  a  period  of  thought: 
"Tell  him  I'll  be  back.  And,  Abel,  when  you  return 
his  pistol  to  him,  perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well 
if  you  explained  that  I  forgot  it — left  it  lying  on  the 
table  here — do  you  see?" 

It  had  been  Jimmy  Gordon's  firm  intent  to  make 
his  way  into  the  district  which  lay  up  on  the  hill  by 
the  shorter,  more  conspicuous  route  that  led  past  St. 
Luke's,  and  T.  Elihu's  portals — and,  yes,  the  Latham 
front  veranda  itself.  In  view  of  the  reception  ac- 


288  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

corded  his  passage  along  Main  Street  the  day  before, 
he  prided  himself  that  this  resolution  savored  almost 
of  dare-deviltry;  and  furthermore,  for  several  days, 
a  whimsical  wish  had  been  upon  him  to  verify  an 
ancient  memory. 

And  now  he  knew  that  he  would  not  dare  essay 
that  highway.  Thus  had  the  pistol  wrought  upon 
him.  Standing  there  on  the  threshold,  quizzically 
hesitant,  it  was  on  his  tongue  to  ask  Abel's  opinion 
of  such  craven  weakness.  And  then  a  new  surge  of 
eagerness  o'erbore  his  desire  for  psychological  dis 
cussion —  even  with  the  gentleman  of  color.  Waking 
he  had  known  this  was  to  be  his  day  of  splendid 
adventure. 

He  left  so  hurriedly  that  Abel  stood,  mouth  agape, 
staring  after.  In  his  entire  lifetime  Abel  had  not  yet 
discovered  a  reasonable  excuse  for  haste. 

In  speaking  of  the  wide  report  which  Whitey  Gar- 
ritty's  attack  upon  the  owner  of  the  Courier  had 
already  enjoyed,  Abel  Thompson,  even  with  the 
racial  habit  of  happy  exaggeration  strong  upon  him, 
had,  if  anything,  failed  to  do  the  matter  justice. 
For,  having  flowed  like  spilled  quicksilver  to  the  four 
quarters  of  the  city,  the  news  had  ignored  mere 
municipal  boundaries,  to  penetrate  even  the  outlying 
rural  regions  which  drew  upon  Warchester  not  only 
for  political  propaganda,  but  the  more  complex  and 
sordid  sensations  as  well. 

And  it  was  a  much  garbled  rumor  which  had  gone 
abroad.  That  would  seem,  on  the  face  of  it,  to  be 
a  tediously  obvious  statement,  for  rumor  is  always 


JUST  JIMMY  GORDON  289 

garbled,  else  where  the  enjoyment  in  indulging  in  it. 
But  the  wide  and  peculiar  variety  of  the  story's  rami 
fications  may  be  best  indicated,  perhaps,  by  particular 
mention  of  two  of  them,  selected  not  at  random  from 
the  many. 

At  that  same  hour  (two  o'clock  in  the  morning) 
when  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  industriously 
plying  a  pencil  beneath  a  shaded  lamp  that  shed  a 
graciously  mellow  light  upon  the  sermon  which  he 
meant  to  deliver  the  next  evening,  was  called  to  the 
telephone  to  hear  that  the  person  with  whose  iniquity 
that  very  sermon  was  most  concerned,  had  departed 
violently  this  vale  of  sin  and  sorrow;  it  was  also 
reported  to  District  Attorney  Jameson,  verbally,  as 
he  stood  in  his  doorway,  in  slippers  and  dressing- 
gown,  that  the  owner  of  the  Courier  had  not  only 
met  a  sudden  end,  but  that  one  Garritty,  the  means 
thereto,  lay  incarcerated,  already  charged  with  the 
crime. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  both  Mr.  Duncan  and 
Mr.  Jameson  were  distinctly  shocked.  In  what  dif 
ferent  degrees  it  is  not  given  to  state.  For  there  is 
more  to  be  gained  in  a  contemplation  of  their 
changed  emotions,  when,  later,  both  reports  were 
nailed  as  false. 

Mr.  Jameson  after  a  frantic  and  futile  effort  to 
get  Mr.  Banks  on  the  wire,  had  locked  himself  in 
his  room,  whence  to  the  amazement  of  his  family, 
from  time  to  time  there  emanated  muffled  sounds  not 
unlike  a  groan.  And  yet,  a  half  hour  following  the 
receipt  of  the  second  report,  a  denial  of  the  first,  he 


290  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

emerged  again,  sleekly  combed  and  garbed  with  dig 
nity.  But  his  amazing  conduct  did  not  stop  there. 
That  morning  for  the  first  time  in  a  period  of  years, 
with  an  air  of  weariness  he  expressed  his  intention 
of  accompanying  his  wife  to  church. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan 
was  most  unecclesiastically  short  with  Mrs.  Duncan, 
delicate  of  health,  who  by  chance  elected  to  come 
down  to  breakfast  that  morning — a  task  she  rarely 
essayed. 

Mr.  Duncan  had  thought  to  spare  her  until  then. 
After  listening  to  the  first  news  of  his  stepson's 
death,  he  had  gone  straight  to  bed  with  several  apt 
phrases  concerning  the  wrath  of  a  righteous  God 
running  through  his  head.  Work  on  the  sermon  he 
abandoned  since,  naturally,  it  need  never  be  finished. 
And  so,  with  the  second  bulletin  which  effected  such 
a  change  in  Mr.  Jameson,  he  was  forced  to  resume 
that  task  again,  with  all  haste,  and  make  the  most 
of  the  scant  interval  which  was  left  before  the  hour 
of  morning  service  should  call  him  to  minister  to 
his  flock. 

Truly  the  ways  of  Providence  are  inscrutable. 
Mrs.  Duncan  had  never  known  her  lord  and  master 
to  be  as  irritable  as  he  was  throughout  that  day. 
And  yet  he  who  figured  most  prominently  in  those 
exceedingly  conflicting  reports  was  convinced  by  mid- 
afternoon,  that  there  was  one  house  where  rumor 
had  not  yet  come.  The  street  that  had  led  him  there, 
chosen  for  reasons  of  obscurity,  had  proved  to  be 
beset  with  comment  and  curiosity.  But  as  he  climbed 


JUST  JIMMY  GORDON  291 

the  steps  of  the  renovated  old  Landis  place,  searching 
the  girl's  eyes  for  a  sign  of  apprehension,  he  sur 
prised  nothing  but  a  serenely  intimate  gleam  of  wel 
come  therein.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  felt  not 
unlike  an  harassed  pilgrim  who,  after  leagues  of 
travail,  had  at  length  won  sanctuary.  He  had  some 
mind  to  convey  this  to  her  in  words,  but  realized  in 
time  that  the  parallel  would  entail  some  explanation, 
and  therefore  discarded  it. 

And,  perversely,  that  was  the  only  topic  which  pre 
sented  itself  to  him  at  the  moment — that  and  one 
other  which,  resolutely  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  ever 
since  he  had  left  Pegleg's  place,  he  now  found  he 
could  not  voice. 

She  was  busy  sewing.  "A  shocking  Sabbath  dese 
cration,"  she  named  it,  " — but  it's  really  become  a 
habit  with  me.  Sunday's  about  the  only  time  I've 
had,  for  a  number  of  years,  to  repair  rips  and  tears* 
And  I'd  never  have  a  whole  garment  to  wear,  if  I 
left  it  to  Louise." 

And  there,  her  fingers  occupied,  she  let  conversa 
tion  languish  before  it  was  fairly  begun,  nor  seemed 
to  find  the  ensuing  silence  awkward  or  uncomfort 
able. 

She  was  all  in  white — some  sort  of  fluffy  white 
stuff  that  stuck  out  quaintly  in  the  skirt.  That  Jimmy 
noted  first,  and  approved  of,  gravely.  Her  stockings 
were  white,  as  were  her  shoes.  But  there  was  mis 
chief  in  the  demure  angle  of  her  head,  the  demure 
crossing  of  her  ankles. 

How  often  she  had  sewed  like  that,  in  the  other 


292  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

years.  She  was  always  repairing  this  old  garment  or 
that,  but  always  lightheartedly,  always  with  optim 
ism,  in  spite  of  the  doubtful  success  of  many  previous 
ventures.  She  had  even  patched  him  up,  when  he 
became  too  ragged. 

Jimmy  Gordon!  That  took  him  directly  to 
thoughts  of  those  two  Broadway  successes — and  Carl 
Hardy.  He  sat  staring  down  at  his  feet,  pondering 
absent-mindedly — wondering  if  it  would  make  any 
difference  to  her  if  she  were  to  know  that  it  was 
Gordon  James,  that  highly  successful  though  elusive 
playwright,  who  sat  there,  instead  of  Jimmy  Gordon, 
black  sheep,  ne'er-do-well,  the  town's  reproach. 

Immediately  a  great  temptation  beset  him — a 
temptation  to  abandon  that  ill-starred  and  erstwhile 
miserable  identity  to  his  ill-chosen  ways.  As  Gordon 
James  (he  shook  his  head,  denying  to  himself  that 
there  was  any  lurking  thought  of  snobbishness  or 
conceit  in  the  inspiration)  he  could  speak  words  little 
becoming  the  lips  of  Jimmy  Gordon,  penniless,  im 
provident  publicist. 

And  with  that  thought  in  mind,  he  raised  his  eyes. 
And  then  his  heart  began  to  hammer  in  his  throat. 
She  was  laying  aside  her  work-basket.  Star-eyed,  lips 
parted,  she  had  been  watching  him.  And  now  he 
followed  her,  as  she  rose.  Her  voice  was  deliciously 
low,  candidly,  tenderly  mirthful,  and  very,  very  close 
to  tears. 

"No,"  she  said.  "Not  Gordon  James,  Jimmy.  I 
want — just  Jimmy  Gordon — to  say  it  to  me !" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  HUMBLE  EXALTED 

QUITE  oblivious  at  first  to  the  unbelievable 
import  of  her  words,  Jimmy  Gordon  stood 
so  long  staring  down  into  her  shining  eyes 
that  she  needs  must  laugh,  at  length,  at  the  expres 
sions  that  went  blundering  across  his  face,  though, 
indeed,  the  mirth  itself  was  softly  tremulous. 

"Carl  Hardy!"  he  stammered.     "He  told  you 
.  .  .  you  knew  all  the  time !" 
She  nodded,  delightedly. 

" — But  he  didn't  tell  me.  Do  you  think  there 
was  any  need  of  explanation  when  he  brought  me 
that  first  act — the  one  he  offered  to  buy  from  you 
years  ago  and  advised  you  not  to  sell — and  asked  me 
what  I  thought?  Gordon  James! 

"Why,  I'd  have  known  it  was  your  work,  even 
if  I'd  never  seen  it  before.  I — I  always  used  to  tell 
you  that  I  never  could  anticipate  you — never  quite 
knew  what  you  were  going  to  do  or  say,  didn't  I? 
That  was  very,  very  dishonest  flattery.  You're  the 
most  transparent  individual  in  the  world,  though  I — 
I  am  beginning  to  wonder  how  much  longer  you're 
going  to  keep  me  waiting  before  you.  .  .  ." 

293 


294  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Minutes  later  she  raised  her  head  and  saw  the 
glorified  incredulity  of  his  face.  It  brought  a  lump 
to  her  throat  and  quick  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"Jimmy !"  she  faltered.  "Jimmy,  as  much  as  that ! 
And  you  never  even  guessed?  Oh,  my  dear,  my 
dear!  Why,  I  decided  I'd  marry  you,  years  ago, 
the  night  you  had  to  go  away."  The  unsteady  little 
catch  went  from  her  voice  and  left  it  grave.  "To 
take  care  of  you,  Jimmy — so — so  now  you'd  better 
tell  me  everything  that  happened  last  night!  And 
don't  try  to  make  light  of  it,  please,  for  if  you  do 
I'll  only  worry  more.  That's — that's  how  I  used  to 
know  when  you  were  in  a  particularly  bad  scrape." 

Six  o'clock  came,  and  on  the  minute,  like  an  auto 
maton,  in  crisp  black  and  white,  a  maid  appeared  in 
the  open  doorway  of  the  Latham  residence,  which 
fronted  on  Warchester's  "most  exclusive  residential 
thoroughfare."  But  the  cool  nod  with  which  Evelyn 
Latham  was  accustomed  to  indicate  her  pleasure  was 
so  long  delayed  that  Lloyd  Jameson,  occupying  on 
the  steps  the  lowly  place  from  which  he  had  never 
been  promoted,  realized  that  the  lady  was  engrossed 
with  matters  other  than  the  serving  of  refreshments, 
and  so  (and  from  no  fleshly  motive)  at  last  ven 
tured,  almost  apologetically,  to  bring  the  matter  to 
her  attention. 

"It's  six  o'clock,  Evelyn,"  he  suggested.  "Shall — 
shall  she  bring  the  tea  things  now?" 

All  that  afternoon  Lloyd's  bearing  had  been  oddly 
absent  and  subdued,  a  condition  too  unremarkable 


THE  HUMBLE  EXHALTED         295 

to  provoke  notice  or  comment,  however,  for  he  had 
long  been  humble  and  disconsolate  in  Evelyn 
Latham's  presence. 

Of  all  of  that  customary  Sabbath  throng,  he  was 
the  only  one  who  had  not  been  drawn  close  to  the 
wicker  divan  by  the  sensational  disclosures  of  Sidney 
Banks,  who,  with  a  serene  confidence  born  of  long 
custom,  perhaps,  shared  it  with  the  daughter  of  the 
house.  And  yet,  in  the  glance  which  Evelyn  turned 
not  toward  the  maid,  but  upon  the  bulky  figure 
slumped  in  dejection  on  the  steps,  there  was  some 
thing  of  tender,  intuitive  expectation,  something  of 
the  light  with  which  ladies  of  old  were  wont  to  favor 
the  as  yet  unproven  knight  of  her  choice. 

They  all  failed  to  notice  that  glance,  but  if  they 
had,  its  peculiar  quality  would  have  eluded  them. 
Such  an  emotion  was  commonly  known  to  be  anything 
but  characteristic  of  Evelyn  Latham,  the  cool  and 
poised  and  ultra-correct;  and  by  no  flight  of  fancy 
was  the  bulky  figure  anything  but  unheroic ! 

"If  you  please,  Lloyd,"  she  drawled,  the  gaze  lin 
gering  upon  his  bowed  head  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second.  Then  she  turned  to  give  again  all  her  inter 
est  to  the  one  whom  Lloyd  had  interrupted.  The 
singleness  of  her  attention  was  distinctly  flattering, 
and  yet  her  words  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  new 
briskness,  which,  to  one  less  self-certain  than  Sidney, 
might  have  suggested  a  crafty  cross-examiner  blandly 
leading  a  lying  witness  toward  the  pitfall  of  prying. 
"And  you  believe  it  was  over  this  girl,  Melody,"  she 
prompted,  "that  the  trouble  first  started,  years  ago." 


296  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

With  that,  as  if  stung  into  action,  Lloyd  lifted  his 
head,  and  Sidney,  mistaking  the  stolid  gesture  for 
one  of  protest,  waved  a  mock  relentless  hand. 

"Murder  will  out,  my  boy,"  he  laughed  down  at 
him,  "and  besides,  confession  is  good  for  the  soul." 
And  then,  to  Evelyn,  and  the  rest  of  the  throng, 
who  were  hanging  upon  each  syllable : 

"Exactly,  and  I  don't  merely  believe  it,  I  know 
it.  For  we  were  there  that  night  at  Hanlon's,  Lloyd 
and  I.  Just  a  harmless  little  fling,  you  see — a  look 
at  the  seamy  side  of  things,  as  it  were,  though  we 
thought  it  was  dare-devilish  enough  then,  Heaven 
knows. 

"And  he  was  there,  too,  at  one  of  the  little  round 
table,  with  this  girl  called  Melody  when — when 
Garritty  came  in.  It's  Garritty,  you  know,  that  they 
suspect  fired  those  shots  at  him  last  night  in  the 
Palace  Theater  alleyway.  Garritty's  one  of  those 
strange  products  of  the  streets,  reckless  and  lawless 
sometimes,  and  yet  capable  of — I  suppose  a  certain 
fineness  is  the  word.  And  Gordon — there's  a  certain 
code  in  such  matters — and  he  had  overstepped.  At 
that  there  might  not  have  been  trouble,  but  Gordon 
said  something  to  him,  just  a  word  or  two,  as  Gar 
ritty  happened  past  their  table,  and  then — well,  they 
said  Garritty  would  have  finished  him  right  then, 
as  he  almost  did  last  night,  if  I — if  we  hadn't  inter 
fered.  Before  Garritty  could  get  his  gun  free,  the 
girl  felled  him  with  a  chair.  And  Gordon — I  got 
him  out  through  a  side  door  reserved  for  just  such 
emergencies,  and  glad  enough  to  go.  So  you  see 


THE  HUMBLE  EXHALTED          297 

.  .  o  ."  Sidney  was  about  to  indulge  in  a  dramatic 
ally  conclusive  flourish,  when  the  defection  of  his 
audience  spoiled  the  effort  entirely,  and  to  put  it 
with  time-honored  exactitude,  compelled  him  to  feel 
that  all  was  not  well. 

Throughout  the  vivid  recital  Lloyd  had  maintained 
his  dejected  silence.  But  with  the  mention  of  the 
"side  door,"  and  the  insinuated  ignominy  of  Jimmy 
Gordon's  escape,  an  incoherent  ejaculation  was 
wrung  from  his  lips.  Evelyn  turned,  with  one  or 
two  others  who  heard,  in  time  to  see  him  shake  his 
head  again,  like  a  bear  beset  by  hornets,  before 
he  started  to  rise  with  a  sort  of  prodigious  desper 
ation. 

And  now,  confronting  Sidney,  and  Sidney's  sud 
denly  dumfounded  audience,  though  he  saw  nothing 
but  the  blurred  face  of  his  hostess,  hot  and  miser 
able  and  humble  still,  he  addressed  himself  to  her, 
and  achieved,  all  unwittingly,  the  heroic. 

"That's  not  the  truth,"  he  blurted,  speaking 
blindly  and  bitterly.  "That's  a  lie,  like  every  other 
story  that's  ever  been  told  about  Jimmy  Gordon's 
scrapes  in  this  town. 

"We  were  there  that  night — yes,  and  he  was,  later, 
but  not  with  her.  Because  we  were  with  her;  we 
went  there  with  her  and  a  friend  of  hers  called  Rose ! 
Sidney  picked  her  up  the  week  we  were  rehearsin' 
that  show  we  gave  for  charity.  And  the  night  of 
the  performance  she  brought  around  a  friend  for 
me,  and — and  we  went  to  Hanlon's." 

Lloyd's  eyes  were  bereft  of  hope  as  he  sustained 


298  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Evelyn  Latham's  level  regard.  Nor  was  it  strange 
that  he  failed  to  notice  even  vaguely,  how  strangely 
her  face  had  begun  to  shine  from  within.  Accepting 
Sidney's  jocular  reference  to  confession  as  a  truism, 
Lloyd  had  not  yet  unburdened  himself  to  an  extent 
that  was  evidenced  in  any  pronounced  uplift  of  spirit. 
He  gulped  and  pushed  on. 

"We — we  were  going  to  show  them  a  good  time !" 
he  said,  with  unconsciously  savage  satire.  "Of 
course  nothing  like  Henry's  in  Manhattan,  where — 
where  everybody  had  to  be  a  good  Indian;  but  the 
best — or  worst — Warchester  afforded.  And  we  did 
think  we  were  gay  dogs — regular  dare-devils.  We 
even  thought,  all  along,  that  we'd  suggested  the 
party,  when,  all  along,  they'd  arranged  it  for  us. 
They  introduced  us  to  Garritty,  a  mean,  sneakin' 
crook,  and  others  like  him.  We  got  into  a  poker 
game.  The  girls  sat  on  our  chair-arms  and  sig 
naled  the  cards  we  held !  And  we'd  lost  more  money 
than  we  had  with  us,  more  than  we  could  pay  up 
in  months,  and  signed  some  lOU's  besides,  when 
Gordon  came  in. 

"He  had  been  standing  outside  in  the  rain,  waiting 
to  see  you  come  out,  I  suppose."  Lloyd's  voice  was 
forced  and  dogged;  and  suddenly  he  was  no  longer 
unaware  of  the  softly  rosy  glow  in  Evelyn  Latham's 
face.  More  miserable  than  before,  he  even  believed 
he  knew  what  lay  behind  it. 

"He  must  have  seen  us  go  into  Hanlon's,  and 
known  we  were  fools  !  Because  he  followed  us.  He 
stood  and  watched,  till  he  was  sure,  and  then  he — 


THE  HUMBLE  EXHALTED          299 

called  Garritty,  and  said  the  game  was  crooked !  I 
wouldn't  have  dared — that  doesnt'  mean  much — but 
not  many  men  would  have  dared.  He  didn't  have  a 
gun.  Garritty  did.  And  Garritty  would  have  shot 
him  down  unarmed  if  the  girl  called  Melody  hadn't 
knocked  him  out  with  a  chair.  That  much  of  what 
you've  just  heard  was  true.  And  then  the  place  was 
raided.  The  police  came  banging  on  the  door.  And 
he — he  got  us  out,  through  a  side-door,  before  they 
broke  the  other  one  in.  He  got  us  out,  but  they 
caught  him.  And  my  father  gave  him  twenty-four 
hours  to  get  out  of  town.  I  could  have  cleared  him, 
and  I  kept  quiet.  I — I  knew  he  wouldn't  tell !" 

The  maid  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  behind  the 
wicker  tea-service,  with  its  squat  pot  and  fragile  cups, 
and  basket  of  vari-colored  cakes.  And  still  no  one 
moved,  or  offered  to  speak,  till  Sidney  dared  to  lift 
his  eyes  to  those  of  the  rigid  girl  beside  him.  And 
thereupon,  whatever  had  been  upon  his  lips,  whatever 
word  of  denial  or  protest,  was  hushed.  In  a  silence 
still  unbroken,  and  ugly  of  a  sudden,  he  rose  and 
strode  heavily  down  the  steps.  And,  one  by  one, 
tacitly  accepting  the  attitude  of  the  girl  left  alone 
on  the  divan  as  one  of  dismissal,  the  rest  of  that 
Sabbath  throng  mumbled  an  uncomfortable  leave- 
taking  and  departed.  As  a  chubby  Colossus  might 
stand  with  the  monstrous  din  of  that  catastrophe  still 
filling  his  ears,  after  he  had  pulled  the  heavens  down 
about  him,  Lloyd  stood  and  watched  them  go.  At 
length  Evelyn  Latham  and  the  unheroic  figure  alone 
remained. 


300  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

There  was  a  certain  serenity  in  her  silence.  Lloyd 
found  the  quiet  eventually  unbearable,  He  stood  for 
a  time  staring  at  his  boots,  before  he  again  goaded 
himself  to  speech. 

"I've  been  trying  to  tell  you  this — ever  since  he 
came  back,"  he  mumbled  drearily.  "But  I  was  too 
— too  much  of  a  coward  till  now.  He's  always  cared 
for  you,  everybody  knew  he  was  crazy  about  you, 
except  yourself." 

"I  knew  it,"  she  interrupted  softly. 

Again  he  shook  his  head.  It  is  doubtful  whether 
he  even  heard  her. 

"And  now — now "  He  drew  a  long,  long 

breath.  "Well,  now  I  guess  I'll  be  going  along 
home." 

"But  I  want  you  to  stay,'  she  expostulated  with 
panic  haste.  "The — the  tea " 

Dully  he  seated  himself  on  the  top  step ;  he  rose 
again  at  her  hesitant  bidding,  and  obeyed  the  gesture 
that  seated  him  on  the  divan  at  her  side. 

And  thus  was  the  lowly  exalted,  in  the  moment 
that  he  had  thought  to  brave  the  abyss.  Yet  even 
he  was  not  given  to  know  immediately  the  height 
he  had  achieved — not  until  a  small  hand,  cool  and 
aloof  no  longer,  but  warm  and  eager,  seeking  dili 
gently,  found  his. 

Dusk  came  and  darkness,  which  yielded  reluctantly 
to  the  lights  that  lined  Warchester's  chief  residential 
thoroughfare.  And  the  water  in  the  tea-pot  grew 
cold. 

A  tall  thin  figure,  appearing  from  the  direction 


THE  HUMBLE  EXHALTED         301 

of  the  orchard  behind  the  Reverend  Watson  Dun 
can's  white  cottage,  strode  nearer  with  quick  steps 
that  rang  on  the  flagging.  And  as  he  seemed  to 
pause  before  her  home,  quizzically  contemplative, 
even  in  the  shadow,  Evelyn  Latham  recognized  him; 
and  no  longer  poised  and  deliberate,  but  rather  dis 
heveled  and  flushed,  yanked  (there  is  no  other  word 
for  it)  her  companion  to  his  feet. 

The  three  met  at  the  junction  of  the  Latham 
gravel  path  and  the  sidewalk.  There  they  stood  for 
several  moments,  exceedingly  congenial,  apparently, 
for  laughter  and  fragmentary  bits  of  sentences  were 
indistinguishably  intermingled.  And  then,  from  the 
top  step  of  the  Latham  veranda,  Evelyn  watched 
them,  one  tall  and  slightly  stooping,  one  short  and 
plump  but  very  erect,  pass  the  Church  of  St.  Luke's 
arm  in  arm  and  disappear  down  the  hill. 

Judge  Jameson  was  alone  in  his  library  when  the 
front  door,  slamming,  heralded  his  son's  returned 
that  night. 

And  Judge  Jameson  tried  to  hold  his  shoulders 
back  and  force  a  smile  as  Lloyd  entered  the  room, 
until  a  glimpse  of  his  son's  face  startled  him  half 
erect.  It  promised  a  sensation — and  the  only  sensa 
tion  of  which  the  Judge  could  conceive  at  that  mo 
ment,  left  him  sick  with  guilt. 

Many  times  Lloyd  in  imagination  had  approached 
that  moment  and  found  it  impossible.  It  was  aston 
ishing  how  easily,  and  happily,  he  faced  it  now. 

".  .  .  He  got  caught  helping  us  to  get  away."  He 


302  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

repeated  it  all,  as  steadily  as  he  could.  "And  that's 
why  Garritty  tried  to  kill  him  last  night.  I — I 
wanted  to  tell  you  .  .  .  I'd  have  told  you,  long  ago, 
only  I  guess  there's  a  streak  of  cowardice  in  me, 
But  now  you  know,  and  he  knows,  too." 

Judge  Jameson  moved  ever  so  little. 

"You  told  him?"  he  mumbled. 

Lloyd's  voice  raced  on,  in  explanation:  "He 
walked  down  from  Lathams'  with  me  tonight.  He 
laughed  over  it  and  said  it  was  a  funny  scrape.  He 
laughed,  father,  think  of  that  .  .  .  and  I — I'm 
going  to  marry  Evelyn  Latham !" 

Nothing  could  dampen  the  ferver  from  which  that 
last  exclamation  sprang,  not  even  his  father's  pecu 
liar  silence. 

"He's  engaged  to  Carol  Landis.  Evelyn  told  him 
that  he  surely  threw  her  down  flat,  after  years  of 
devotion,  too.  She  said  she'd  try  to  forgive  him, 
however,  if  he'd  come  to  tea  next  Sunday  and  bring 
Carol  Landis  with  him." 

"Forgive  whom?"  mechanically  Judge  Jameson 
asked  the  question. 

"Why,  Jimmy — Jimmy  Gordon.  She  was  only 
joking,  of  course.  And  we — we're  going  to  an 
nounce  both  engagements  at  the  same  time  in  his 
paper.  Jimmy  says  it  will  be  an  exclusive  item — 
an  out-and-out  scoop  for  the  Courier.  I'm  pretty 
lucky.  I  didn't  think  I  had  any  chance — and  now 
— now " 

It  was  quiet  for  an  infinitesimal  space.  And  then, 
abruptly,  Judge  Jameson  threw  back  his  head  and 


THE  HUMBLE  EXHALTED 

laughed.  And  his  son  joined  in,  diffidently,  unaware 
how  shrill  his  father's  laughter  was,  how  nearly  bor 
dering  on  hysteria. 

"It's  funny,"  he  said,  as  he  started  slowly  to  leave 
the  room,  "it's  funny  how  things  turn  out.  And  I'm 
glad  you  take  it  this  way.  I  was  a  pretty  mean  sort 
of  a  sneak,  but  I  want  you  to  know  that  hereafter 
I'm  going  to  try  to  be  a — a  little  worthy  of  Evelyn." 

At  the  door  he  paused. 

"What?"  he  asked,  in  answer  to  an  unintelligible 
sound  from  his  father.  "Oh,  good-night!" 

He  passed  from  the  room. 

Left  alone,  Judge  Jameson's  hysterical  paroxysms 
stopped  with  a  painful  gasp.  He  swung  around  in 
his  chair  toward  the  empty  doorway.  And  to  the 
empty  doorway  he  spoke,  querulously,  pettishly. 

"I  didn't  say  good-night,"  he  muttered;  "I  said 
good  God  1" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

RANK  MELODRAMA 

IN  the  last  few  days  that  had  immediately 
preceded  the  foregathering  of  Warchester's 
citizenry  to  witness  the  acclaim  of  T.  Elihu 
Banks  as  the  Senatorial  candidate  of  the  Common 
wealth,  public  opinion  had  undergone  a  subtle,  but 
unmistakable  readjustment.  Such  changes  in  senti 
ment  are  always  hard  to  analyze;  usually  it  is  next 
to  impossible  to  state  exactly  when,  or  why,  the 
change  began  to  take  place.  But  the  fact  remains 
that  Warcheser,  vaguely  perturbed  by  it,  had  for 
days  been  experiencing  that  metamorphosis. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  odd  silence  of  the  Courier, 
following  hard  upon  the  heels  of  its  scurrilous  attack 
on  T.  Elihu,  that  had  caused  the  first  insidious  sus 
picion  to  creep  into  the  brain  of  the  man  upon  the 
street.  For  having  challenged  T.  Elihu,  and  received 
no  public  reply,  abruptly — so  abruptly  in  truth  as  to 
make  it  seem  almost  ominous — the  Courier  closed  all 
mention  of  the  matter  with  a  calmly  confident  pre 
diction  that  "Mr.  Banks,  in  spite  of  the  high  enthusi 
asm  of  the  body  of  estimable  citizens  behind  him, 
would  in  rising  to  his  introduction  as  the  chief 

3°4 


RANK  MELODRAMA  305 

speaker  in  the  coming  rally  at  the  old  Palace  Thea 
ter,  respond  with  his  customary  eloquence — and  de 
cline,  with  thanks." 

Looking  through  the  columns  of  the  Transcript 
without  finding  a  semblance  of  a  reply  to  that  predic 
tion  was  disquieting.  Wainwright,  with  his  well- 
known  prodigality  of  phrase,  had  merely  repeated 
again  the  many  qualifications  of  the  city's  most  promi 
nent  citizen  for  the  position  of  honor  and  trust  which 
they  proposed  to  thrust  upon  him,  and  emphasized 
his  manifold  public  works.  But  even  in  that  Wain 
wright  could  not  be  specific.  With  the  Courier's  per 
tinent  questions  concerning  the  paving  deal  (which  it 
characterized  as  the  biggest  steal  since  the  city's  in 
ception),  the  trolley  extension  and  real  estate  jug 
gling  at  the  north  edge  of  the  town,  still  unsatisfied, 
he  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  enumerate  them  with 
pride.  And,  somehow,  generalization  in  these  mat 
ters,  though  it  was  ever  so  glowing  and  grateful, 
failed  exactly  to  answer  in  this  case. 

The  Reverend  Watson  Duncan  had  spoken  upon 
the  subject  from  his  pulpit.  Bitterly  he  inveighed 
against  the  influence  of  a  corrupt  press,  and  with  a 
sonority  undeniably  eloquent,  begged  them  not  to 
heed  the  heresy  of  a  false  prophet. 

But,  also,  it  leaked  into  town  that  a  young 
"preacher,"  by  the  name  of  Blair,  had  introduced 
the  same  topic  in  his  country  chapel,  at  the  finish  of 
the  regular  morning  sermon,  and  discussed  it  for 
some  twenty  earnest  minutes,  not  with  impassioned 
flights  of  oratory,  but  soberly.  Almost  conversation- 


3o6  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

ally  he  had  spoken  from  the  edge  of  the  "ingrain" 
carpeted  platform  of  the  regrettable  evil  of  headlong 
public  sentiment,  which  condemns  without  a  hearing, 
and  worships  unproved  respectability  as  blindly. 
The  allusion,  in  each  case,  was  scarcely  veiled.  And 
when  it  became  known  that  there  were  many  of  his 
congregation  who  even  shared  his  views,  when  he 
pointed  out  that  men  such  as  Pegleg  Hanlon  were 
a  blessing  and  not  a  curse  to  a  community,  it  resulted 
in  a  mild  sensation  and  much  debate,  until  a  report 
of  far  greater  import  swept  it  aside. 

From  one  end  of  the  city  to  the  other,  it  was 
noised  that  Evelyn  Latham  had  risen  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan's  tirade 
against  James  Gordon,  proprietor  of  the  Courier 
and  his  own  stepson,  and  stalked  out  of  St.  Luke's; 
and  that  young  Lloyd  Jameson  and  her  father — 
J.  J.  Latham — had  followed,  obviously  seconding 
her  bleak  disapproval. 

Immediately,  at  that  news,  to  use  the  phrase  which 
Wainwright  would  have  employed,  had  his  pencil 
been  unsubsidized,  "Warchester  began  to  seethe  be 
neath  a  surface  of  seeming  calm." 

Came  the  day  of  the  rally,  and  simultaneously, 
Carl  Hardy's  arrival  in  Warchester,  on  the  four- 
thirty  express.  Carol  Landis  and  Jimmy  met  him  at 
the  station,  but  it  was  not  until  they  had  reached  the 
Courier  office  that  the  subject  of  the  new  play,  un 
tidily  projecting  from  the  manager's  coat  pocket, 
was  introduced.  He  drew  it  out,  smoothed  it,  not 
without  signs  of  vast  amusement,  into  a  semblance 


RANK  MELODRAMA  307 

of  order,  and  laid  it  on  the  desk  before  him,  without 
a  word. 

"Well?"  Jimmy  ventured  tentatively. 

"It's  not  finished,"  objected  Hardy.  "Only  three 
acts!  Where's  the  fourth?" 

Jimmy's  smile  became  a  grin  as  he  looked  into 
Carol's  face. 

"Tonight  I — I  hope  to  be  supplied  with  a  logical 
curtain,"  he  explained.  "The  act  is  finished,  barring 
that.  I  waited  because  I  wanted  it  to  be  convincing 
you  know — and  real — and  very,  very  human !" 

Hardy  heard  himself  quoted  without  suffering  any 
great  loss  of  composure. 

"I  always  wondered  about  that  first  act,"  he  mur* 
mured.  "So  it  was — yourself,  eh?" 

It  was  Carol's  soft  laughter  that  sent  the  blood 
into  Jimmy's  thin  cheeks. 

"All  but  the  glorified  parts,"  he  defended  himself. 
"Scarcely  an — autobiography." 

"Splendid!"  mused  Hardy.  "I  wish  I  could  be 
young  again."  And  then,  laughingly:  "Oh,  I  knew 
what  you  were  up  to,  after  I'd  read  one  page  of 
that  second  act — the  return  of  the  prodigal — ten 
years  later!  But  what's  the  curtain  going  to  be, 
Jimmy — vindication,  young  virtue  triumphant — 
honor  and  reputation  retrieved?" 

But  the  tall  and  slightly  stooped  editor  of  the 
Courier  had  recovered  his  equanimity.  He  laughed 
with  them,  even  while  he  was  ordering  them  from, 
the  premises. 

"You  can  search  me!"  he  answered,  humorously 


3o8  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

grave.  "But  it's  bound  to  be  logical  and  convincing, 
and  true  to  life.  Because  they're  going  to  create  it, 
not  I.  And  now,  here's  an  order  for  two  seats, 
reserved  for  you  in  the  balcony.  You  can  watch  it 
develop,  yourself.  Tivotson  and  I  are  very  busy  for 
an  hour  or  so.  We — we  are  men  of  the  moment, 
so  to  speak!" 

It  was  hot  and  oppressive  in  the  pit  of  the  old 
Palace  Theater,  but  men  forgot  the  heat  as  the  prin 
cipals  whose  entrance  they  had  been  awaiting,  finally 
filed  in  from  the  wings:  Dayton,  chairman  of  the 
Civic  Improvement  Society;  Blake,  United  States 
Senator  from  a  neighbor  State;  District  Attorney 
Jameson,  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan,  and  T. 
Elihu  Banks. 

The  representatives  of  the  press,  Wainwright, 
with  his  ribboned  spectacles;  Tivotson,  stone  sober 
in  spite  of  a  mad  gleam  in  his  eye,  and  Jimmy 
Gordon,  found  places  at  a  long  table  at  the  extreme 
left  of  the  stage. 

The  Palace  Theater  had  been  the  scene  of  many 
political  gatherings,  not  so  different,  in  externals, 
from  this  one  which  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan 
now  opened  with  a  brief,  almost  martial  prayer. 
And  yet  there  was  scarcely  a  man  in  the  house  who, 
lifting  his  bared  head  at  the  finish  of  that  plea  for 
divine  guidance  did  not  feel  that  he  was  no  longer  a 
participant,  but  rather  an  onlooker,  waiting  for  the 
presentation  of  a  performance  of  absorbing  tensity. 

Dayton  rose  and  spoke  with  that  fluent  jocularity 


RANK  MELODRAMA  309 

which  had  made  him  the  town's  official  toastmaster, 
waxing  grave  only  when  it  was  time  to  introduce 
the  first  speaker  of  the  evening,  the  well  known  and 
well  beloved  Mr.  Blake,  Senator  from . 

Blake  rose  and  wooed  them  with  honeyed  flattery; 
boomed  outworn  commonplaces  at  them  concerning 
their  duty  to  state  and  nation ;  accentuated  the  crying 
need  at  the  Capitol  of  such  men  as  Mr.  Banks  (and 
himself),  and,  a  little  perfunctorily,  returned  to  his 
chair. 

A  patter  of  applause  rewarded  his  effort.  But 
Warchester  audiences  were  always  accustomed  to 
encourage  the  first  or  second  acts  of  a  visiting  com 
pany  in  just  such  measure.  It  signified  neither  ap 
proval  nor  disapproval. 

And  now  as  Dayton  came  again  to  his  feet,  talking 
a  little  more  rapidly  this  time,  here  and  there  men 
began  to  notice  that  of  the  three  men  at  the  press 
table  Jimmy  Gordon  alone  was  busy  preparing  copy. 
Wainwright,  vaguely  disquieted,  was  watching  Judge 
Jameson,  and  wondering  if  the  District  Attorney  had 
become  suddenly  indisposed,  for  he  was  very  white. 
Tivotson,  bolt  upright  and  rigid,  and  trembling  like 
a  snake  ready  to  strike,  was  watching  T.  E.  Banks. 
But  the  editor  of  the  Courier  was  busy,  seemingly 
enjoying  his  task,  for  he  was  smiling  above  his  racing 
pencil. 

The  effect  of  a  certain  sort  of  a  smile — a  quiet, 
amused,  lazy  smile — upon  the  emotions  of  those  who 
behold  it,  offers  a  nice  problem  in  psychology.  Hav 
ing  sought  his  bowed  figure  and  glimpsed  that  smile, 


310  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

the  eyes  of  men  lingered  upon  it,  until  the  whole 
house,  in  a  sort  of  fascinated  expectancy,  was 
watching  him. 

They  watched  him  while  Dayton  introduced  "T. 
Elihu  Banks,  Warchester's  first  United  States  Sen 
ator."  While  they  cheered,  in  a  fashion  markedly 
unconvinced,  they  watched  Gordon — and  during  the 
first  half  of  the  profoundly  dispirited  speech  of 
acceptance  which  Mr.  Banks  delivered  in  a  husky 
voice.  And  when  Gordon  suddenly  gathered  his 
sheets  together,  and  stacked  them  with  some  nicety, 
and  T.  Elihu  faltered,  and  finished  with  his  hand 
kerchief  knotted  wet  in  one  hand,  and  his  forhead 
dripping  wet,  man  for  man  they  edged  forward  in 
their  chairs. 

T.  Elihu  had  finished  now,  and  it  was  quiet — 
dreadfully  quiet,  for  a  meeting  that  was  to  have  been 
a  "rousing  indorsement  of  their  candidate."  T. 
Elihu  had  responded  with  his  customary  eloquence 
— but  he  had  not  declined  with  thanks.  Yet  he  was 
a  pitifully  defeated  figure,  as  he  stuck  to  his  guns. 

"Tivotson!" 

The  little  man,  as  if  T.  Elihu's  defiance  had  just 
sunk  home,  lunged  to  his  feet.  The  very  bitterness 
of  his  impulse  would  have  carried  him  across  the 
stage,  had  not  Jimmy's  ringing  word  halted  him. 
Gripping  the  table,  hungry-faced  and  beseeching,  he 
swung  his  head  around  toward  his  employer. 
Crisply  Jimmy  motioned  him  to  a  chair,  and  he 
obeyed. 

And  now  Blake  was  on  his  feet,  his  face  suffused 


RANK  MELODRAMA  3 1 1 

with  indignation  at  an  unheard  of  irregularity.  Day 
ton  was  up,  and  the  Reverend  Watson  Duncan, 
expostulating  incoherently,  when  a  gamin  in  the  gal 
lery  raised  his  voice,  ribald  and  irreverent,  and  dis 
tinct  in  every  syllable. 

"Cheese!"  he  warned  the  gentleman  of  the  cloth. 
"You  had  your  chance.  I'ts  too  late  for  youse  guys 
to  do  any  more  prayin'  now!" 

Maybe  the  prophetic  partisanship  of  the  gallery- 
ite  checked  a  more  active  show  of  objection;  maybe 
the  reason  for  their  moment  of  hesitation  lay  in  the 
whimsical  quality  of  Jimmy  Gordon's  smile.  For, 
unchallenged,  he  had  risen  and  come  slowly  down 
to  the  center  of  the  stage,  a  tall  and  thin  and  fam 
iliar  figure,  reminiscent  still  of  shiny  blue  serge,  in 
spite  of  the  conventional  black  and  white  which  he 
was  wearing. 

There  was  no  real  need  for  him  to  wait  a  moment 
for  silence.  This  was  the  moment  they  had  been 
awaiting  for  days. 

Whitey  Garritty,  who  had  been  waiting  even 
longer,  took  advantage  of  the  momentary  dereliction 
of  one  of  those  inconspicuous  individuals  whom 
Pegleg  Hanlan  had  ordered  to  "hang  around"  each 
of  the  open  exits.  The  alley  blackness  offered 
Whitey  Garritty  ideal  cover.  This  time  he  tried  not 
to  hurry  it. 

An  expression  of  incredulous  dismay  swept  the 
face  of  Warchester's  black  sheep.  He  seemed  half 
to  lift  one  arm,  as  if  to  steady  himself.  The  con 
fined  roar  of  the  shot  that  spun  him  round  and 


312  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

dropped  him  on  the  stage  made  of  the  pit  of  the  old 
Palace  Theater  a  rioting  mass  of  indignant,  outraged 
men. 

Pegleg  Hanlon  and  Tivotson  helped  Abel  carry 
him  into  Hanlon's  Hotel  and  up  to  his  room.  And 
Pegleg,  ten  minutes  later,  met  the  girl  with  the  pallid 
face  whom  Hardy  steadied  up  the  narrow  stairway. 
She  refused  to  be  comforted,  refused  to  be  cheated 
by  the  smile  of  reassurance  on  his  face,  so  he  stood 
aside  and  bade  her  enter. 

"A  scratch,"  he  scoffed  at  the  horror-stricken  eyes 
she  raised  from  the  stained  strip  of  bandage  about 
his  head.  "A  scratch.  He'll  be  around  an'  tell  ye 
so  himself,  in  a  minute!" 

And  indeed  Pegleg  spoke  the  truth.  For  almost 
immediately  Jimmy  Gordon  stirred  and  raised  one 
hand  as  though  the  bandage  irked  him,  and  Carol's 
lingers  flew  to  make  it  easier. 

His  eyes  opened  then.  He  shook  his  head  at  her, 
deprecatingly. 

"Just  like  the  old  days,  eh?"  he  said.  "Always  in 
trouble!" 

The  girl  slipped  to  her  knees  and  buried  her  head 
on  his  shoulder  and  clung  to  him.  And,  quizzically, 
over  that  bright  head,  Jimmy  met  the  stunned  con 
cern  of  Hardy's  regard. 

"Your  fourth  act  curtain,  Hardy,"  he  drawled, 
weakly,  in  a  voice  faintly  satirical.  "Logical — and 
real — and  very,  very  human !"  He  made  a  gesture 
of  amiable  disgust.  "Why!  damn  it,  man,"  he  fin 
ished,  "it's — it's  rank  melodrama !" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

INDIAN   SUMMER 

RAIN  had  fallen  during  the  early  hours  be 
fore,  dawn,  a  gentle  downpour,  pleasantly 
cool  and  fragrant  with  the  spicy  suggestion 
of  autumn  leaves.  Indeed,  more  than  one  patch  of 
crimson,  nipped  by  an  early  frost  and  blown  from 
the  trees  on  the  Common,  lay  tightly  pasted  to  the 
clean  concrete  surface  of  Front  street,  like  drops  of 
brilliant  paint  spilled  here  and  there  by  a  careless 
artisan. 

Even  the  dingy  sod  of  the  Common  had  been  ren 
ovated.  It  looked  so  lush  and  green  that  the  lone 
commercial  traveler  who  came  out  upon  the  Bay 
State  veranda  steps  just  before  noon  and  faced  in 
that  direction  to  make  the  cannoneer  and  his  mate 
a  solemn  salute,  stood  squinting  at  it  critically,  from 
eyes  very  wise  in  such  a  round  and  cherubic  coun 
tenance. 

The  drummer,  having  missed  his  Saturday  connec 
tion  and  arrived  only  that  morning,  had  been  forced 
to  forego  his  jump  to  Providence  because  he  dared 
not  leave  town  without  seeing  Latham — J.  J. 
Latham — personally,  so  one  would  reasonably  have 

313 


HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

expected  him  to  find  nothing  of  excellence  on  the 
scene  of  his  broken  schedule.  To  the  contrary,  he 
nodded  his  head  at  length  and  sighed  his  unqualified 
content. 

"Don't  weaken,  boys,"  with  preoccupied  gravity 
he  admonished  the  intrepid,  twice-life-size  pair  which 
composed  Warchester's  martial  statue.  "It  could  be 


worse." 


And  then,  chair  and  stiff  brown  derby  tilted  back 
at  a  dangerous  angle,  brown-buttoned  shoes  propped 
upon  the  rail,  this  stranded  alien  opened  a  damp 
copy  of  the  Sunday  Transcript. 

A  head-line  and  two  pictures  upon  an  inner  sheet 
caught  his  vagrant  eye.  With  quickly  reawakened 
interest  he  picked  the  paper  up  and  looked  closer, 
nodding  his  head  the  next  moment  like  one  who  has 
satisfactorily  verified  his  knowledge  of  metropolitan 
affairs. 

"Landis!"  he  spoke  softly  aloud.  "Thought  so. 
Opened  here  last  night  in  a  new  piece,  eh?  Wonder 
how  it — hallo !" 

The  other  picture  had  intruded  itself — the  picture 
of  the  author  of  the  new  piece.  And  now,  as  he 
gazed  at  it  more  closely  and  recognition  came,  a 
queer  expression  spread  slowly  across  his  face. 

Many  times  since  the  afternoon  several  months 
before  when,  with  Mr.  Dodge  he  had  viewed  the 
return  of  Warchester's  prodigal  son  to  the  haunts 
of  his  youth,  the  drummer  had  vexed  himself  with 
conjecture  concerning  that  shabby  figure.  In  one 


INDIAN  SUMMER  315 

way  its  familiarity  was  easily  accounted  for.  The 
drummer  had  never  forgotten  that  other  day,  years 
back,  when  a  cinder-soiled  figure  stood  with  the  same 
Airedale  which  was  waiting  now  on  the  platform 
with  Abel  Thompson,  and  watched  a  plum  uphol 
stered  barouche  clatter  off  up  the  street.  But  that 
memory  was  not  entirely  satisfacory.  A  persistent 
certainty  that  he  had  seen  that  thin  face  on  still  an 
other,  vastly  different,  occasion  was  nagging  at  him. 

And  now  the  pulse  of  triumphant  recollection 
which  shot  across  his  cherubic  face  gave  way  imme 
diately  to  a  look  less  easily  described.  It  had  in  it 
a  light  of  inspired  comprehension,  and  a  gleam  of 
unholy  delight. 

"Gordon  James !"  he  breathed  to  himself.  "Jim 
my  Gordon !  Now,  why  couldn't  you  have  guessed 
that,  you  poor  boob,  without  a  set  of  pictures  to  help 
you!  His  Own  Home  Town!  O  boy — O  boy! 
And  I  was  right  around  when  it  happened!" 

But,  little  by  little,  as  he  attacked  the  body  of 
Wainwright's  report  of  the  affair,  his  expression  of 
delight  was  displaced  by  a  mixture  of  ludicrous  be 
wilderment  and  belligerent  conviction.  The  drum 
mer  would  have  been  hard  put  to  it  to  explain  just 
what  note  he  had  expected  the  press  of  Warchester 
to  strike,  but  emphaically  it  was  not  that  one  sounded 
by  the  three  columns  which  the  Transcript  devoted 
to  the  premiere  of  the  night  before. 

".  .  .  As  for  the  play  itself,  there  is  either  much 
to  be  said,  or  very,  very  little.  A  perfect  conception, 
perfectly  presented  would  cover  the  latest  product  of 


3i6  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Gordon  James*  brain  and  pen.  But  since  it  is  also 
the  work  of  Jimmy  Gordon,  our  own  townsman — 
boy,  I  very  nearly  wrote,  for  he  is  not  yet  in  his 
thirties — such  brief  mention,  no  matter  how  lauda 
tory,  would  hardly  suffice. 

".  .  .  Much  of  the  atmosphere,  much  of  the  local 
color  of  his  own  home  town  Mr.  Gordon  has  put 
into  his  new  play  by  that  name.  Yet  he  deals  also 
with  more  concrete  things.  In  those  four  acts  he  has 
incorporated  a  mighty  sermon  against  petty  politics, 
and  blind,  intolerant  hypocrisy  which  many  cities  of 
Warchester's  class,  who  have  lagged  behind  us  in 
the  last  few  years,  will  do  well  to  witness  and  heed." 

There  was  more — much  more! — all  in  Wain- 
wright's  best  style,  but  at  that  point  the  dumfounded 
drummer  stopped  and  let  the  paper  slip  from  slack 
fingers. 

"Well,  I'm  damned,"  he  whimpered.  "I'm 
damned!" 

Mr.  Dodge,  the  manager  of  the  Bay  State,  ap 
peared  the  same  instant  in  the  doorway  behind  him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  truculently. 
"Forget  your  samples  somewhere?" 

In  his  way  the  drummer  was  a  student  of  human 
nature.  He  whirled  now  with  a  feverish  eagerness 
for  experimentation  in  his  eye.  But  a  newer  devel 
opment  checked  him. 

Across  the  square  the  gentleman  of  color  had 
come  to  his  feet,  smiling  widely,  as  a  pair  of  high- 
checked  gray  horses,  harnessed  to  a  bulbous,  plum 
upholstered  barouche,  rounded  Main  street  corner 


INDIAN  SUMMER  317 

and  came  swinging  down  Front,  the  clatter  of  their 
feet  upon  the  pavement  a  marvelous  imitation  of 
those  hoof-beats  which  trap-drummers  were  wont  to 
beat  out  upon  their  shells,  for  the  added  vividness 
it  lent  to  motion-picture  steeds. 

There  was  a  man  and  a  girl  in  the  barouche,  and 
a  pile  of  worn  bags,  thickly  belabeled.  Both  of  them 
the  drummer  recognized  instantly,  but  it  was  a  long 
white  streamer  of  ribbon  whipping  lazily  behind  on 
the  breeze  that  held  fascinated  his  gaze. 

"Looks  like  a — a  wedding,"  he  ventured  uncer 
tainly,  at  length,  and  for  once  his  speech,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Mr.  Dodge,  was  faltering.  He  and  Mr. 
Dodge  were  not  congenial  souls. 

The  manager  of  the  hotel  could  not  spare  him 
even  a  pitying  glance  at  that  moment,  though  his 
reply  came  with  the  patness  of  a  verbatim  report. 

"Jimmy  Gordon  and  Miss  Landis,  his  leadin'  lady 
.  .  .  married  to-day  at  high  noon  ...  St.  Luke's 
.  .  .  that  young  rector,  Blair,  officiatin'.  Duncan's 
retired." 

The  barouchs  was  nearing  now.  It  was  quite  pos 
sible  to  see,  even  from  the  veranda  of  the  Bay  State, 
the  splendid  little  smile  upon  the  girl's  curling  lips. 
The  Bay  State  manager  was  bending  double,  and 
repeating  the  salute  at  accurate  intervals ;  the  drum 
mer  found  himself  encountering  Jimmy  Gordon's 
pale  blue,  mildly  amused  regard,  and  suddenly  he, 
too,  was  upon  his  feet,  bowing,  his  round  face  pink, 
his  stiff  brown  derby  in  one  hand. 

And  Carol  Gordon,  nee  Landis,  bobbed  her  head 


3 1 8.  HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

to  him  as  the  barouche  rounded  up  to  the  platform 
and  delivered  them  over  to  Abel. 

"Where's  the  plump  old  party  who  used  to " 

He  completed  the  question  by  waving  a  hand  in  the 
direction  of  the  disappearing  barouche. 

Mr.  Dodge's  patronizing  smile  was  withering. 

"Banks!"  he  said.  '"I  guess  you  ain't  been  long 
in  this  town.  Old  Banks?  Bermuda — that's  where 
they  said  he  was  going — or  Havana.  For  his 
health!"  He  laughed,  harshly.  "Well,  I  guess  most 
any  of  those  places  are  healthier  than  jail!" 

"Hum-m-m,"  murmured  the  drummer.  "Turned 
crooked,  eh?" 

"Never  was  anything  else!  Sold  out  everything 
he  had  before  he  left,  except  his  place  up  on  the  hill. 
Henderson's  livery  bought  that  rig  of  his  that  just 
brought  Jimmy  Gordon  down  to  the  station.  And 
Jimmy  Gordon — why,  he  used  to  drive  a  hack  for 
Henderson,  when  he  was  a  boy!" 

Something  in  that  epic  announcement,  something 
in  the  manager's  bearing,  seemed  to  challenge  his 
transient  guest.  But  the  latter's  eye  had  lost  its 
eagerness  for  experimentation — its  embattled  gleam. 
He  was  silent  so  long  that  Mr.  Dodge's  face  finally 
saddened  with  a  realization  that  the  question  he  had 
lingered  to  combat  would  never  be  asked. 

He  sighed,  but  turned  back  in  the  doorway. 

"Well,"  he  declared,  "there  was  a  lot  of  people 
in  this  town  that  used  to  run  Jimmy  Gordon  down, 
till  it  got  to  be  the  fashion.  But  I — I  told  'em !  I 
knew  he'd  make  good  in  the  end." 


INDIAN  SUMMER 


It  was  quiet  after  that.      The  drummer  was  a 
philosopher.    He  only  sat  and  smiled. 


THE  END 


ONCE  TO  EVERY  MAN 

AND 

THEN  I'LL  COME  BACK  TO  YOU 

By  LARRY  EVANS 
author  of 

HIS  OWN  HOME  TOWN 

Can  Now  Be  Obtained  in  the  Popular  Edition 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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